Words Can Wound, Silence Can Heal
by Plant.Mom
Summary: Sinning never felt so good… A fortuitous encounter. A meeting that should never have happened. Many years ago, two children from completely different worlds forged a connection, a fateful connection, an unbreakable bond that would change their lives forever… Dark Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Horror.
1. SummaryGlossary

Sinning never felt so good…

A fortuitous encounter.

A meeting that should never have happened.

Many years ago, two children from completely different worlds forged a connection, a fateful connection, an unbreakable bond that would change their lives forever…

Danielle knows only one way to live—under Prophet David's rule. In the commune she calls home, Dan knows nothing of life beyond her strict faith, nor of life beyond the Fence—the fence that cages her, keeps her trapped in an endless cycle of misery. A life she believes she is destined to always lead, until a horrific event sets her free.

Fleeing the absolute safety of all she has ever known, Dan is thrust into the world outside, a frightening world full of uncertainty and sin; into the protective arms of a person she believed she would never see again.

Phil Lester knows one thing for certain in life—he was born and bred to wear a cut. Raised in a turbulent world of sex, Harleys, and drugs, Phil, unexpectedly has the heavy burden of the Hades Hangmen gavel thrust upon him, and all at the ripe old age of twenty-eight—much to his rivals' delight.

Haunted by a crushing memories, Phil quickly learns to deal with his haters. Powerful fists, an iron jaw and the skillful use of his treasured German blade has earned him a fearsome reputation as a man not to be messed with in the shadowy world of outlaw MC's. A reputation that successfully keeps most people far, far away.

Phil has one rule in life—never let anyone get too close. It's a plan that he has stuck to for years, that is, until a young woman is found injured on his lot… a woman who looks uncannily familiar, a woman who clearly does not belong in his world, yet a woman he feels reluctant to let go…|

 **Glossary** **  
** **The Order Terminology**

 **The Orde** r: A _pocalyptic New Religious Movement. Beliefs based on selected Christian teachings, strongly believe the apocalypse is imminent. Led by Prophet David (declares himself to be a Prophet of God and a descendant of King David), the elders and the disciples. The members live together in a secluded commune; based on traditional and modest living, polygamy and unorthodox religious practices. Believe the 'outside world'is sinful and evil. Have no contact with non-members._

 **Commune** : _Property owned by The Order and controlled by the Prophet David. Segregated living community. Policed by disciples and elders and stocked with weapons in case of an outside world attack. Men and women kept in separate areas of the commune. The Cursed kept away from all men (except the elders) in their own private quarters. Land protected by a large perimeter fence_.

 **Elders** : _Comprises four men; Gabriel, Moses, Noah and Jacob. Charged with the day to day running of the commune. Second in Command to Prophet David. Responsible for schooling the Cursed._

 **Disciple Guards** : _Male members of The Order. Tasked with the protection of the commune lands and the members of The Order. Follow the command of the elders and Prophet David._

 **Lords Sharing:** _Ritual sexual act performed between male and female members of The Order. Believed to help the male get steadily closer to the Lord. Performed in mass ceremonies. Narcotics often used for a transcendental experience. Females are forbidden from experiencing pleasure as punishment for carrying the original sin of Eve and must perform the act when required as part of their sisterly duties._

 **The Cursed:** _Women/ Girls in The Order deemed too naturally beautiful and inherently sinful. Live separately from the rest of commune. Seen as too tempting to men. The Cursed are believed to be significantly more likely to sway men from the righteous path._

 **Original Sin** : _Augustine Christian doctrine that says mankind is born sinful and have an innate urge to disobey God. Original Sin is the result of Adam and Eve's disobedience to God when they ate the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. In The Order's doctrines (created by Prophet David), Eve is blamed for tempting Adam to sin, thus sisters of The Order are seen as born seductresses and temptresses and must obey men._

 **Hades Hangmen Terminology Hades Hangmen:** _One-percenter Outlaw MC. Founded in Manchester, England, 1969_.

 **Hades:** _Lord of the Underworld in Greek mythology._

 **Mother Chapter:** _First branch of the club. Founding location_.

 **One-percenter:** _The American Motorbike Association (AMA) were once rumored to have said that 99% of bikers were law-abiding citizens. Bikers who do not abide by AMA rules name themselves 'one-percenters'(the remaining non law-abiding 1%). The vast majority of 'one-percenters' belong to Outlaw MC's._

 **Cut:** _Leather vest worn by outlaw bikers. Adorned with patches and artwork displaying the club's unique colors._

 **Patched in:** _When a new member is approved for full membership._

 **Church:** _Club meetings for full patch members. Led by President of the club_.

 **Old Lady:** _Woman with wife status. Protected by her partner. Status held to be sacrosanct by club members._

 **Club Slut:** _A woman who comes to the clubhouse to engage in casual sexual acts with the club members._

 **Bitch** : _Woman in Biker culture. Term of endearment._

 **Gone/ Going to Hades:** _Slang. Referring to the dying/ dead._

 **Meeting/ Gone/ Going to the Boatman:** _Slang. Dying/ dead. Referring to 'Charon'in Greek mythology. Charon was the ferryman of the dead, an underworld daimon (Spirit). Transported departed souls to Hades. The fee for the crossing over the rivers Styx and Acheron to Hades were coins placed on either the dead's eyes or mouth at burial. Those who did not pay the fee were left to wander the shores of Styx for one hundred years._

 **Snow:** _Cocaine._

 **Ice:** _Crystal Meth_

T **he Organizational Structure of Hades Hangmen**

 **President (Prez):** _Leader of the club. Holder of the Gavel, which is symbolic of the absolute power that the President wields. The Gavel is used to keep order in Church. The word of the President is law within the club. He takes advice from senior club members. No one challenges the decisions of the President._

 **Vice President (VP):** _Second-in-Command. Executes the orders of the President. Principal communicator with other chapters of the club. Assumes all responsibilities and duties of the President in their absence._

 **Road Captain:** _Responsible for all club runs. Research, plan and organize club runs and ride outs. Ranking club officer, answering only to President or VP._

 **Sergeant-at-Arms:** _Responsible for club security, policing and keeping order at club events. Reports unseemly behavior to President and VP. Responsible for the safety and protection of the club, its members and its Prospects_.

 **Treasurer:** _Keeps records of all income and expenses. Keeps records of all club patches and colors issued and taken away_.

 **Secretary:** _Responsible for making and keeping all club records. Must notify members of emergency meetings._

 **Prospect:** _Probationary member of the MC. Goes on runs, but banned from attending Church._


	2. Author's Note

**Author's Note**  
I just wanted to take a moment to explain why I wrote certain aspects of this book. I adore the world of bikers. I've been lucky enough to gain friends from an MC and be taught lessons that other's would normally not be informed of. I as well love to study different religions. For the past two years, what has become popular in news, TV series, and topics among the people are Cults, and Outlaw MC's. For example, Sons of Anarchy and documentaries on Polygamist villages practicing inhuman rituals. Due to outstanding lecturers, I was given the opportunity to learn about various people from an array of cultures and faiths. Something I found interesting this year was 'New Religious Movements (NRM's), Cults and Sects'. I was lucky to know about members and former members of such religious groups. Most were happy with their lifestyle choice, others were not. I would say that ninety percent of the people I studied belonged to the former, but I will never forget the harrowing, and sometimes disturbing, testimonies and witness statements from the latter. Unfortunately, amongst the genuine and sincere members of some NRM's, there are also a very small number of opportunists and individuals who, for reasons unbeknownst to most, choose to use religion, and its influence on innocent people, for their own personal gain—whether it be for power, control, or sadly, for something much more sordid. Words Can Wound, Silence Can Heal is inspired by the testimonies of ex-members from several NRM's and the leaders that abused the power they had over their members—especially the women. And my love for MC's. I had thought this year that, these two very different topics were interesting and questioned "Why can't they be spun together?" Though they may be different, it could prove to be quite interesting when together. Addressing this topic was very important to me, as it is an area of life, of humanity, in which most people are unaware. Victims of these 'opportunist' groups are often not given a voice and I wanted to give many women a chance to be heard. 'Words Can Wound, Silence Can Heal' a work of fiction, but the doctrines, practices and experiences of Dan, her sisters and The Order in this novel are also inspired by several brave women who chose to share their story. I am a thorough believer in the freedom of religion and respect, and have many friends, from many faiths. Most NRM's that I got the chance to know were honest and good people and do not deserve the bad reputation many of them acquire. What I do find unacceptable however, is when certain people take vulnerable, pure and God-fearing people and abuse their trust and kindness for their own selfish gain. I would also like to point out that I made Dan Howell a female, knowing it would work better with this story and how women are treated in cults. Thank you for taking your time to read this note and I hope you enjoy the novel.

Dead Princess


	3. Prologue

**Prologue**  
"You stay here, Phil. Got it?"  
Turning up the air-conditioner in the truck, I nodded and told him "Got it." Slamming the driver's side door, my pop and the prospect headed off into the woods, the first body bag of the four dead Irish men being carried by them. Waiting until they were all out of sight I jumped out of the truck, my feet making a crunching sound as they hit the dried grass. Tipping my head back, I breathed deep. I loved being outdoors, loved being on the back of my pop's bike, and loved being anywhere away from people expecting me to talk.

Making my way toward the bed of the truck, I snapped a long spindly branch off a nearby cedar and began whacking the reeds around me just for something to do. Sending stiffs to the boatman could take hours—digging, lime, and cover-up—so I made my way toward the trees and set to searching for snakes in the high grass. I don't know how long I walked, but when I lifted my eyes, I found myself deep in the forest, the air around me completely still and me completely lost. Shit. Pop's instructions were as clear as day. "Stay here, Phil. Got it?" Hell, he was going kill me if he had to come looking. The rules for dumping stiffs were simple: dig, dump, dodge. Searching around me, I spotted a rise and headed for higher ground. I intended to work my way back to the truck before my pop turned up and got pissed. Using the trunks of the trees to hold on to, I climbed the steep hill and, when I reached the top, began dusting the dried mud and bark scum from my jeans. When they were sorta clean, I scanned the horizon and frowned. About two hundred yards ahead was the biggest goddamn fence. My mouth dropped at its size; it was higher and wider than anything I'd ever seen before. It reminded me of prison, with curls of razor wire wrapped 'round the top wall. I looked all 'round me, but there were no signs of life, nothing to be seen behind the fence but more forest. I wondered what it was. We were deep in the boonies, miles and miles from the outskirts of Manchester, miles and miles from anywhere. Folks don't really come this far outta town…they know better. My pop said only bad things happen 'round these parts: death, disappearances, violence and other unexplainable things. It'd been that way for years; that's why my pop chose it as a drop site.

Now completely distracted from finding a route back to the truck, I began wading through tall grasses toward the edge of the fence. Curious excitement buzzed through me. I loved to go exploring, but then I jumped out of my skin when, suddenly, something behind the fence caught my eye. Someone was there. I froze, focusing my eyes on the outline of a tiny slim person, the small frame of a young chick dressed in a long gray dress, her hair pulled back in a funny style at the back of her head. She looked about my age. Maybe a couple of years younger? Heart beating fast in my chest, I crept toward the chick, her tiny, frail-looking body drowning in the dark material of her dress as she curled herself in between the roots of a large tree. Her shoulders were shaking as she cried, her body shuddering with sobs, but not making a sound. Dropping to my knees, I threaded my fingers through the links of the fence and stared. I wanted to say something, but I didn't—couldn't—speak. I was shocked, curious, and tongue tied. I closed my eyes, concentrating on trying to loosen up my throat, fighting to free the words that never wanted to come. Dropping my mouth, I set to relaxing my face muscles when the tiny chick froze on the spot and her eyes locked on mine. I stumbled back, my fingers slipping back through the fence. She had huge, brown eyes rimmed with red marks. Her small hand moved to her face to wipe at her wet cheeks; her bottom lip quivered and her chest heaved hard. From my new position, I could see her hair was as brown as chocolate and her skin so pale. I'd never seen anyone like her before. Then again, I didn't know many kids my own age; no one did in club life. There was PJ, of course, but he was my best friend, my club brother. Suddenly, the chick panicked; her face blanched, she shot to her feet, and her head turned back toward the forest. I scrambled to the fence again at her movement, the metal screeching at the contact. The chick froze and looked back, gripping a branch as she watched me. Who are you? I wanted to ask. The girl swallowed nervously and tilted her head. Cautiously, she edged forward in silence, curiosity etched on her tiny face. She was staring at my hands, watching me fiddle with my jacket, her dark eyebrows pulled down real low. The closer she got, the more my breath came short and I felt warm all over. Her hair was tied in a tight knot at the back of her head, covered by a weird white cloth. I'd never seen anyone dressed like her before. She looked so strange. When she stopped about two yards away, I sucked in a breath, squeezed my stomach muscles tight, and tried to aske, who are you? She didn't speak, just stared at me blankly. Goddamn it! Why can't I say a thing? I could hear just fine, but I didn't speak. PJ and Pop were the only folks who I could speak fine too, and right now I was on my own. Sucking in another deep breath, I swallowed and tried really hard to work loosen my throat. Closing my eyes, I thought through what I wanted to ask and, holding a slow, controlled exhale, I tried my damnedest to talk.

"Wh-wh-who a-are y-y-you?" As I fell back in shock, my eyes widened. I'd never been able to do that before, speak to a total stranger. My hands fidgeted in excitement. I could talk to this chick! I could talk…that made her number three. Driven by curiosity, the chick moved closer still. Only a few feet away, she slowly knelt on the forest floor, her head cocked to one side, just staring at me with a funny expression on her face. Her big brown eyes never once moved away from me. I watched her slowly scan me from head to toe and then back again. I thought about what she must be seeing: my dark, messy hair, black T-shirt and jeans, heavy black boots, and leather cuffs on my wrists showing the Hangmen patch. As her eyes met mine once more, her lips seemed to curve upward slightly into a small kinda smile. I crooked my finger in her direction, urging her to come closer.

She quickly turned, searching all around her. Seeing we were alone, she stood up—slowly, as before—and she inched forward toward me, the bottom of her long dress dirtying on a patch of muddy ground. Now, as she stood before me, I couldn't help but notice again how tiny she looked. I was tall, so she had to tilt her neck back to look up at me. As I pressed into the fence, my stomach churned. She looked so tired and her eyes winced in the corners as she shuffled toward me, like she was in pain. Noticing she was uncomfortable, I pointed to the forest floor, indicating we should sit. She nodded her head, lowered her eyes and slowly, painfully, dropped to her knees. She didn't make a sound. Hoping for another miracle, I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.

"Wh-what i-is this p-p-p-place? D-d-do you…l-l-live h-here?" I stuttered, occasionally pausing and thinking through my words as I struggled to push them out. A wave of excitement washed through my stomach…I was talking…again! Her eyes focused on my mouth, but she still kept quiet. Her black eyebrows were pulled tight and her pink lips were pursed in concentration. I knew she was wondering why I talked funny; everyone always did. She would be wondering why I stuttered. I didn't know. I just always had with new people. Gave up trying to fix it years ago. I talked with my hands now. Didn't like being laughed at for having a stammer…but she wasn't laughing at me…not even a little bit. She just looked, well, confused. As I glanced down in embarrassment, I noticed her hands were right next to her side of the fence, only inches from mine. Without thinking, I reached through and ran my finger across her knuckles. I just wanted to touch her, make sure she was real. Her skin looked so soft. With a gasp, she snapped her hand back as if my touch were fire and she cradled it next to her chest. "I-I-I w-won't h-hurt y-you," I croaked as quickly as I could force out, worried about the terror on her face…a face that was the same shape as a heart. I didn't want her to be scared of me.

My pop told me that people needed to fear me, had to distrust me so I'd be safe. Most people in my world, I knew, would see my quietness as a weakness, so my pop told me I had to toughen up and use my fists instead of words. Now folks just thought I was dangerous. Like PJ said, I was born to be feared: the Hangmen Mute. But right now I wished more than anything that I could trade all that in just to know how to talk right. I didn't want her to be afraid of me. Not the chick with the brown eyes—brown eyes the color of a wolf's. Sitting back in a trance, her wolf eyes drew me in. She looked like a ghost—no, a goddess—like the paintings on the wall at compound. Like the goddess Persephone, wife of Hades, the underworld God the Hangmen wore on their patch. With a flicker of movement, the chick brought her shaking hand forward to the fence; the soft brown and gold flecks in her irises never broke my gaze, the whites bright as she stared at me. I stayed completely still. The girl was like a frightened rabbit and I didn't want to spook her. I'd never seen anyone like her, my hands were getting damp and my heart was beating real fast. Nervously, she ran a fingertip along my hand, a pink blush bursting on her cheeks. I fought to breathe, the too-fast thumping of my heart making me lose focus. Bending my index finger, I hooked it softly around hers and pressed my forehead against the hard mesh wire. The girl pursed her slightly parted pink lips and wiggled the tip of her nose. I stopped breathing…She was beautiful.

"C-come cl-cl-cl-closer," I whispered, a hint of desperation in my voice. Her nose twitched again and I smiled. "Y-you're so-so b-b-beautiful," I blurted out, biting my lip as an afterthought. My fists clenched as I grew more and more frustrated with my speech. She frowned and shook her head and I realized she could understand me. I so badly wanted her to talk back to me. "Wh-wh-why are y-y-you out h-here a-all a-alone?" The girl began to tremble, the whites of her eyes seeming to take over the brown. She looked so lost and I wondered what made her that way. I wanted her to feel better, wanted that look on her pretty face to change from sadness to happiness. I didn't know what to do. Suddenly, I thought of the brothers at the club and how they made the club bitches happy. Before I knew what happened, I quickly leaned in and pressed my lips against hers through the tiny open space of the wire mesh. Her lips were so soft. I didn't move my mouth, unaware of what to do, so I just left my lips locked on hers. I peeked open my eyes and her lids were squeezed tight. I closed my eyes immediately, hoping the moment would last a while longer. Lifting my hand, I ran my finger slowly down her face, but she pulled away with a gasp. She stumbled back on her hands wiping furiously at her mouth, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

Fear overtook me and I blurted, "I'm… I'm… I'm… s… s… s—" I stopped and hit my hand against the fence, cursing God that I couldn't ever speak properly. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to speak again. "I-I'm s-sorry… s-s-sorry, I- I-I d-d-didn't m-mean t-to sc-sc-scare you," I managed to force out. She curled herself beside the tree again, her gray dress loose on her tiny body and her hands clasped tight as she silently mouthed something. It sounded like a prayer. I listened closer as she rocked back and forth, tears springing from her eyes. "Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. Do unto me what ye deem fit. Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. I was weak and must atone." "T-talk to m… m… m-me. A-are you okay?" I asked loudly, my voice growing stronger as I shook the fence, trying to find some way to get through to her. I didn't understand it, but for some reason I needed to hold her. I knew I needed to make things right. She was so sad… so scared… I hated it. The girl grew still, hushed to silence, and just watched me again.  
"Phil? Where the fuck are you?" My pop's deep voice cut me from my trance as he called me back from deep in the forest. I dropped my head in my hands. Not now, not now! Desperate and I glanced over my shoulder, watching Pop stomp through the edge of the forest in the distance, searching for me. "Puh…puh…p-please…a n-name…an-an-anything…"The chick rocked faster, her pale lips moving once again in her prayer. "Phil! You have five seconds to get the fuck down here! Don't fucking test me!" "A n-name! I'm be-be-begging you!" The chick stopped dead still, looked up at me—no, she looked through me—her brown eyes weirdly wide, and whispered, "My name is Sin. We are all sin." She choked on her words, expelling a frightened whimper as she heard my pop screaming from the bottom of the hill. Ducking into the heavy bush, she scrambled away on her hands and knees, suddenly crying out loudly as though in pain again. "No! Don't go!" I shouted clearly to her retreating form, but it was too late. I stepped back from the fence, watching the last of her long dress disappear into the darkness of the forest. An empty, sinking feeling almost made my legs stop working, but then my eyes widened and my fingers touched my lips in shock. My speech…my speech for the first time ever was clear and without a stutter…No, don't go…"Phil!" I turned quickly, running down the hill toward my pop. "PHIL!" Pumping my knees higher I pushed through the tall grass, running back to my life—back to my pop and the MC; all the time wondering if I'd ever see Sin again… The chick with the wolf eyes.


	4. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
Danielle**  
 _Fifteen years later…_

 _Run, run, just keep running…_  
I willed my tired legs to keep pumping. My muscles burned as though injected with venom and my bare feet were completely numb as they slammed onto the cold hard forest floor, but I would not give up…could _no_ t give up.  
 _Breathe, run, just keep moving…_  
My eyes darted around the dark forest, searching for the disciples. None to be seen, but it was only a matter of time. They would soon realize I was missing. But I could not stay, could not do my pre-ordained duty to the prophet; not after what happened tonight.  
My lungs burned with the severity of my sharp gasps and my chest heaved with overexertion.  
 _Push through the pain. Run, just run._  
Passing the third watchtower, unseen, I let myself feel a momentary sliver of joy—the perimeter fence was not too far away. I allowed myself the hope that I might actually get free.  
Then the emergency siren wailed and I shuddered to a stop.  
 _They know. They are coming for me._  
I forced my legs to move even faster; thorns and sharp sticks jabbed into the soles of my feet. Gritting my teeth, I told myself, _Do not feel pain. Do not feel pain. Think of her._

They could not find me. I could not _let_ them find me. I knew the rules. _Never_ leave. Never _attemp_ t to leave. But _I_ was fleeing. I was determined to escape their wickedness once and for all.  
Spotting the tall posts of the perimeter fence, my arms pumped with renewed vigor as I made the final steps of my sprint. I smashed against the rigid metal with a crash, the posts grinding at the force of my collision.  
I frantically searched for a gap.  
Nothing.  
 _No! Please!_  
I ran along each post—no gaps, no holes…no hope.  
In a panic, I fell to the ground, clawing the dry earth, tunneling, digging for freedom. My fingers raked at the hard mud—fingernails snapping, skin ripping, blood flowing—but I did not stop. I had no choice but to find a way out.  
The siren wailed on, seeming to scream ever more loudly, like a countdown to my recapture. If I was found, I would be watched constantly, treated worse than ever before—I would be even more of a prisoner than I was right now.  
I would rather die.  
 _How long have I been gone? Are they close?_ Panicked thoughts whirled in my mind, but I kept digging.  
Then I heard the dogs closing in; the barking, snarling, rabid, vicious fury of The Order's guard dogs and my digging became more frenzied.  
The disciple guards carried guns; large, semi-automatic guns. They defended this land like lions. They were brutal and they always got their prey. I would be captured and punished, just like _her_. Tortured for my disobedience.

 _Just. Like. Her_.  
The search hounds were louder now, harsh, heavy panting and nerve-jangling barks getting ever closer. I swallowed back the cry threatening to rip free from my throat and continued digging, burrowing, scooping, shoveling—to be free. Always yearning to be free… _Finally_ free.

I stilled momentarily as I heard a babble of voices. Sharp commands sounded out. Gun barrels were loading, the echoes of safety catches clicked; heavy boots stomped closer and closer.  
They were _too_ close.  
I almost shrieked in frustrated terror when I judged the gap under the fence did not look big enough to fit me. But I had to keep going. I did not have a choice. I had to try. I could not live one more day in this _hell_.  
Headfirst, chest grazing the newly-excavated ground, I slipped through the tiny gap under the fence. The flesh of my shoulder grated on the ragged metal of the mesh wire but I did not care—what was one more scar?  
Using my hands as claws, I dragged my body forward. I heard clear voices, the crystal timbre of the brothers; their savage dogs, consumed by bloodlust, as they howled with deliberately induced hunger.

"She'll be searching for gaps or weak links. Secure the second team along the north gate. We'll head for the south, and no matter what, _FIND HER_! The Prophet will bring the wrath of the Almighty on us all if she is lost!"  
Quelling an anxious cry, I pushed and scrambled forward. I scurried through the dry mud, legs flailing in desperation. Deep scratches covered my skin. My white gown ripped and tore into shreds on spikes of jagged barbed wire, and I watched helplessly as my blood trickled onto the dry ground.  
 _No!_ I almost screamed out in frustration. The hounds would smell my blood. They were trained to scent blood.  
With one final push, my body was through, only my legs were left to go. I shuffled onto my back, heels digging in, striving for freedom.  
A feeling, _no_ , a flood of elation at the realization I was all but free quickly evaporated at the sight of a black hound skirting round a nearby bush. Focusing on a tree outside the fence—a goal to crawl to—I tried to pull myself forward, when a jolt of pain seared through my left leg. Razor-sharp teeth sliced into my flesh, and when I looked down, a heavily muscled guard dog held my left calf in its grip; snarling and shaking its head, tearing into fragile skin and muscle.  
Paling with the severity of the pain, I fought back a growing sense of nausea. I slapped my palms on the forest floor, finding purchase on a large stone. Choking back a scream that was clawing its way up my throat, I dragged my mauled leg away from the fence toward my goal. The dog tried to force its large head under the fence, tightening its grip on my limb, shaking it back and forth like it was playing with a stick.

With the last of my energy, I attacked. The stone I had dragged myself with came loose in my hands and I hit the dog's skull over and over and over, its bared fangs dripping with white-red foam, its hellish black eyes burning bright with anger. The disciple guards starved their hounds to make them bloodthirsty and forced them to fight each other to make them permanently angry. The disciple guards reasoned that the hungrier their dogs were, the more vicious they would be when hunting down deserters.

Inhaling through my nose, I tried to keep focus; I just needed to loosen the dog's grip, just a fractional release to let go of my injured left leg.  
And then it happened.

With a final crack of the stone, the incensed canine reared back, shaking its bruised head. I dragged myself free of the shallow gap, my breath coming in short sharp bursts as my body reacted to the shock.  
As I shuffled away from the fence, a wry thought sped across my mind; I had actually done it. _I am free._  
The dog, though groggy and recovering from its hit, lunged for the gap. Once more it snapped its large jaws and sharp teeth and with it, me from my haze. Edging forward, I quickly filled the gap with as much mud as I could gather, then tried to stand, but my injured leg could not take the strain, could not bear my weight. Inside, I cried, _Not now! Please, Lord, just give me the strength to keep going_.  
"Here! She's _here_!"  
A black-uniformed disciple emerged from the dense foliage, glaring furiously at my crouched form beyond the fence. He removed his balaclava and my heart fell. I would recognize that long scar on his cheek anywhere. Gabriel, Prophet David's second-in-command; his brown heavy beard hiding most of his face, as was custom with all the brothers at The Order. However, Gabriel was the disciple my people feared most, the man responsible for the atrocity I witnessed tonight…responsible for me losing _her_ …

Tutting and shaking his head, Gabriel inched forward, crouching low to meet my eyes. "Danielle, you foolish girl. You didn't think you could just leave, did you?"  
A smirk spread across his face and he leaned even closer to the metal barrier. "Come back through and face your punishment. You've sinned…badly…"He laughed patronizingly, the other disciples followed suit. Every square inch of my skin crawled in horror. "It must run in the family."  
I tried to ignore his taunts. With a subtle search, I scoured my surroundings, searching for an escape route. Gabriel suddenly straightened and narrowed his eyes.  
"Don't even think it. We will find you if you run. You belong here, with the Prophet, with your people. He is waiting at the altar, and after the events of today, he is eager to proceed with the ceremony. There is nothing for you outside of the fence. Nothing but deceit, sin, and death."  
Crawling to my tree, my goal, I used the rough thick bark to lift myself up off the forest floor. I tried with all my might to block out his words, but I faltered in my footing. More disciples broke through the dense brush to watch me stumble; their large guns aimed, with perfect precision, at my head.  
They could not, _would not_ , shoot. Prophet David would not allow it. I knew I held the balance of power right now. But even if I managed to break free today, they would never give up the search for me—I was what they all believed had to happen. I looked down at my tattoo on my wrist, rubbed across the script and read the inked passage that had been forced upon my skin as a child. I just did not believe in The Order anymore. If this made me a sinner, then I was glad to be a _fallen_.  
Ignoring my trembling hands, I reached down, ripping along the bottom of my gown, tearing a long strip of material from the hem. I tied it around my open leg wound to stop the blood.  
"Danielle. Think it through. Your disobedience will cause severe punishment on all of the daughters. Surely you would not do that to your sisters? On Deana and Christiana? Cause them pain because you were weak and gave unto temptation?"  
Gabriel's calm tone chilled my heart. My sisters. I loved them, loved them more than anything…but I _had_ to do this. I could not go back, not now. I had the wake-up call I needed to finally take the leap, to escape. I _knew_ there had to be more to life than _this_ existence…than with _them_.  
With one final glance at the only family I had ever known, I turned, dragging my left leg in my wake, and fled into the murky denseness of the forest.  
 _Run, just keep running…_  
"Damn her to hell!" Gabriel screamed, his voice shrill with his command. "File out. Take to the gates and spread out. DO NOT LOSE HER!"

They were on the move. The gates were not far away, but far enough to give me precious time. I just needed time.  
Shuffling deeper into the forest, I forced myself to move quicker. I pushed myself hard, running my body to its breaking point, my prayers accompanying every step. I did not scream, did not even cry when I was hit by low branches that tore at my face or when every inch of my body was being flailed by overgrown bushes.  
I knew I was bleeding badly. I was hurting, but I kept going. Even bruised and battered, I knew my alternative back in The Order was far worse.

Passing tree after tree, the darkness closed in. I avoided snakes and critters as the hours passed, but I did not stop. The moon shone high above me as daylight faded and I grew weaker—my blood flowing in a constant slow-moving stream from my leg. I re-dressed my wound with more soiled material but, most of all, I was not found by the disciple guards. I was tired…but I kept pushing myself on.  
Then, finally, when I had reached my physical limit, hope almost lost, I found a road. With renewed vigor, I stumbled down a steep hill, landing hard on the graveled concrete of the bumpy pavement.  
My conscience congratulated me that the disciples had not found me… _The disciples did not find me_. But I could never let down my guard. I could not be free until I was far, far away.  
I limped along the side of the road, a quiet deserted lane. The chirping of crickets and the hoots of owls were the only sounds in the darkness. I did not know my location. I had never before left The Order.

I was completely lost.  
As I tried to work out my next course of action, lights suddenly flared round a tight bend. They blinded me. I lifted my hand to protect my eyes from the glare, when a huge vehicle hove into view. A large, black vehicle was slowing. A large, black vehicle that stopped beside me. The window wound down from its place up high to reveal the shocked face of an older woman.

"Hell, honey! Why are you out here all alone? You need some help?"  
An outsider.  
Prophet David's teachings bombarded my thoughts _; Never speak to the outsiders. They are the devil's people. They do the devil's work._  
But I had no choice.  
"Help me. Please," I croaked. I had had nothing to drink in a long while and my throat felt like I had swallowed sand.  
The outsider leaned forward and the massive door popped open. "Get in, honey. This road is no place for young girls like you, especially at this time of night. Dangerous folks around here and you don't want them finding you alone."

Limping forward, I gripped the long silver rails attached to the side and climbed up into the warm seat. I reminded myself to be alert; to keep up my guard.  
The lady's brown squinted eyes widened, her gray hair a fluffy halo around her head. "Honey, your leg! You need a hospital. How did that happen? You're a mess!"

"Please just take me to the nearest town. I do not need a healer," I whispered, my head feeling light and my breathing slowing in my tight chest.

"Nearest town, girl? That's miles away. You need help now! What happened? You look like hell." She suddenly gasped. "Please tell me you haven't been attacked. Tell me no man has forced himself on you." Her eyes tracked down my body to the blood now trickling down my leg, then she searched behind her using the large mirrors attached to the door. "Oh no…have you been…taken against your will?"

I did not meet her eyes. She could control me; I had been taught that anyone outside of The Order would tempt me. I was one of Prophet David's chosen people, envied by all others. I had to avoid her trap.  
"I have not been attacked. Please. Just…take me to a town," I pleaded once more. The large vehicle pulled onto the unlit road with a deafening blare from a horn. Wincing at the sound, I stared out of the large window, deep in prayer. _Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be—_

"Where did you come from, honey?" The woman's voice interrupted—soft and enticing. She sounded like a lullaby. Was she guising evil intent? Or was she being honest? I did not know…I just did not know! My head was a swirling fog and I could not focus.  
I kept my silence.  
"Did you come from that forest? If so, how? Where? There's nothing in there but trees and bears. No one in their right mind goes into those woods. Too many unholy things lurking in those old trees. I even heard rumors of a government testing facility in there or something." I dared not look in her direction. She kept talking, but I managed to block out the sound.

We traveled far and many hours passed. I did not know where we were, but with every inch of new road, I let myself relax. I was tired and, to my happiness, my leg no longer hurt. It was completely numb and I was sleepy. I fought with my eyes to remain open and when I knew I could not keep consciousness too much longer, it was time to make my move.  
"Please stop," I urged, pressing my palms against the large pane of window glass. My eyes searched the barren outside area for a place to take refuge. I sighed in relief when I spotted a square gray building set way back off the main road. I could take shelter there…hide there…rest there, until I regained strength enough to continue on with my journey.

The woman slowed the vehicle and shook her head. " _Hell_ no! I'm not leaving you here! Downtown's still quite far ahead. A girl like you does not belong in a place like that. It's dangerous. Filled with bad, bad folks. Do you even know what this place is?"

My vision became blurred and tunneled, threatening to move to black. "My friend is here. She is waiting," I said in panic, the deception coming surprisingly easy to my lips.  
The vehicle suddenly pulled onto the crunching gravel and jerked to a stop. "You have friends _here_?" Her voice was filled with shock.

"Yes."  
"Well, I'll be damned. Didn't take you for one of those girls. I guess the devil comes in many forms. Kinda explains the state you're in. I guess they all decided to teach you a lesson, huh? Dumped you and left you to make your own way home? And here you are, crawling bloodied and bruised back into the den of evil."  
I did not understand her meaning. Who were _those_ girls? I pushed open the door and fell down to the hard ground without another word. I needed to hide. I just needed to muster the strength to take a few more steps.

With a loud hiss, the large vehicle crawled away into the distance as I staggered down the long road toward the far-off building. It was vast, imposing, and fenced in. But most importantly, it was near and the heavy-looking tall gate was open just enough so I could squeeze through.

I made it through, my sight fading fast. I knew I could not go on anymore. My energies exhausted, I lay down on the rough, hard ground behind a row of large, wide containers and I submitted to the urgings of my eyelids for sleep. The last image I saw as I glanced up was…Satan…painted on the wall of the building opposite. He sat on a grand throne with a brown-eyed female by his side.  
Startled awake, I shook in panic at the image, echoing the words of the lady who drove the large vehicle. _Where the hell am I?_  
Soon after, no longer able to fight sleep, one final thought filtered into my mind as I slid into unconsciousness: _There is nothing on the outside but deceit, sin, and death…_


	5. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
Phil**

Crashing through the doors of the compound, I was seething. Several club sluts scattered out of my way—wise move.  
Bursting through the door of my office I paused at the nearest wall, my hands slapping against the cement. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, carefully thinking over my words. I couldn't lose it in front of the brothers.  
My VP and best friend, PJ, quietly closed the door behind me, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. Turning to face him, he nodded his head to signal we were alone. I expelled a long, frustrated breath.  
"Fucking hell. Brandy scum!" I manage to push out, pissed as hell.  
PJ stared at me, no expression in his eyes. He walked to the bar and poured me a bourbon—he knew the routine. Holding out a full glass of source, PJ supplied my kind of medicine. I knocked the liquor back in one practiced action…then another…and another still. At last, I felt it loosen, the ever-present rope choking the fuck out of my throat.

"More?" PJ stood ready at the bar, Jim Beam bottle in hand.  
Waving my hand, I signaled my VP for another shot…and another…and just one more to be sure. His brown eyebrows rose, silently asking if I needed more.  
"It's better," I said, expelling a sigh of relief. The room was kind of spinning.  
"PJ you better get to the bottom of this shit or we go to war, you hear? I'm about done with the whole lot of them!"  
PJ's expression changed. He went as white as a damned ghost and lifted his hands for emphasis. "Phil, man. I swear we had it all worked out. Some fucker cut the deal behind our backs." This fucked-up run had been his deal and it was clear he had no idea what the hell had gone wrong.  
Rubbing one hand across my forehead, I pointed with the other to church. PJ nodded his head, getting my instruction.  
Reaching for the half bottle of Jim, I drank directly from it, feeling the burn of its fiery liquid down my throat.

PJ took off to gather the brothers, giving me time to pull it together. As I paced the floor of my office, I knew PJ was telling the truth. The fucking Brandy. It had to be the Brandys! How can a deal made with the Russians after months of talk just turn to shit in a few days?  
Someone sold us out; it was the only explanation. And some asshole will die for it! I left my office and entered church, still pouring the hard brown liquor down my throat. It helped the words flow more easily.  
The brothers quickly filled the room, tension leaking from their pores as they stared at me, in fear. They should. I was about ready to tear someone a new asshole. I smelled a rat. A rat in my own fucking brotherhood. My old man would be turning in his stone-cold grave. No one turns coat on a brother. Well, no one who wants to live a long and pain-free life.  
I smiled to myself as the brothers almost pissed themselves watching me. The one thing that stops people ripping on you for being young is being a cold-blooded killer with fists of iron. Funny how no one openly says a damn thing about you when one smack in the mouth can paralyze from the neck down.

PJ shut the door, which signaled that all of the Hangmen were present. I grabbed another swig of bourbon and sat at top seat, gavel in hand. My VP was to my right, eyes tight as he studied my rigid face, waiting for me to begin.  
I pulled my favorite KM2000 German Bundeswehr knife from my boot and stabbed it into the wood of the table before me, the blade cutting through the thick oak like flesh.  
Eyes widened around me.  
Point made.  
I sat back.  
" If someone knows what the fuck went on tonight, they'd better start talking…Now.  
No talking and no meeting of eyes. I felt a tick of annoyance in my jaw.  
Elbows on the table, I further spoke. "That deal has been on the table for four months. Drop off, transport—the whole fucking nine yards. Every minute detail was planned to perfection. Then we get to location, hauling truckloads of gear, only to be told we'd been undercut by some other supplier, someone trading on our turf. Commi bastards! Question is…"

PJ sat back in his seat, watching my hands move furiously the more irate I became. "Who's stealing our business? More important, how the fuck did they know about the deal? That info's been locked down tight."  
Taking advantage of PJ's pause in breath, I picked up my knife, pointing it along every brother at the table, meeting them eye to eye, before placing the blade between my teeth. "Fifty crates of AK47s, ten crates of M82A1 sniper rifles, and ten crates of top-grade semiautomatics—all now without a buyer. The Colombians aren't going to take that shit back. So this is what's going happen" I said with rising anger.

Licking along the tip of the blade, I smelled the sick stench of betrayal in the room. Intimidation always flushed out a rat. I was a goddamn expert in intimidation—my old man taught me well. I don't have a soundproofed shed out back for carpentry, that's for fucking sure.  
I slowly slid the sharp blade back into the table before me. "We're going to find a new buyer soon so our friends the ATF don't come knocking. Then we find out who dared fuck with this club. My suspicions are firmly on the Brandy, but right now anyone's a goddamn possibility. Fuck knows our enemy list is as long as fucking Santa's naughty list."  
PJ cleared his throat. "Am I okay to speak freely, Prez?"  
A sharp nod gave him permission.  
"I know you got beef with the Bradny, brother. Hell, I want them gone to Hades as much as you, but they're into snow. Never known them to trade guns. Just saying. My opinion, it doesn't smell like Irish to me."  
He had a point. Irish around this part of England shifted for the cartel—narcs through and through. Traded easily.  
Cracking my knuckles while in thought, the leather from my cut creaked at the movement. Suddenly, I launched the KM2000 across the room. I watched as it slipped like butter into the back wall, right into the center of the club patch.

Flicking my chin at PJ, he watched me. "Who else could be a possibility? We good with the London Crew?"  
Felix—Secretary, mid-twenties, blonde hair, pale skin, little beard, fucking weird Sweidish man—nodded his head. "We're good. Pay good coin to cross their turf. No beef with them."  
"Russian?" PJ asked.  
"Laying low after the drug bust. Tommy Slovinken shipped back to the Emerald Isle. Six brothers doing time," drawled Mark—Treasurer, built, twenty-six, tough as hell. He ran his hand though his long brown locks.

I blew a long, drawn-out breath, took one huge swig of my liquor, and said, "Any idea who will want the guns?"  
Shaun—Sergeant-at-Arms, high-tower, short brown hair with patches of silver, goatee, mid-twenties, could hit any mark perfect, ex-Brandy sniper—lifted his chin.  
"Got a contact within the Chechens. They may be interested. They're at war with the Reds. Could be perfect revenge. We tell them what the Russians are packing. They'll wanna match it. We supply it, sends a message to the red fuckers never to undercut us again."  
I nodded, a sliver of relief settling in my bones.  
Set it up, I ordered in ASL, and the brothers all around the table seemed to relax.  
Ben—crazy red haired motherfucker, thirty-two, with scars and piercings covering half his body—got to his feet, snarling, pacing the room, slapping his arms one after the other. He'd spent most of his life in and out of the nut house, then got out and went killing scum for kicks. Some real messed-up shit. Couple of years later, he found us. We recruited him. He helped us in the Irish war, proved a hundred percent club loyalty. We patched him in. Now we let him loose on those who deserve a completely fucked-up way to die. Crazy bastard gets real inventive.

Ben grabbed my knife from the wall, lifted it to cut a slice on the underside of his arm, then groaned like some slut was sucking on his dick. Blood ran to the floor. He hissed in pleasure, wired eyes closing. Shit, the dude was built. He'd be pretty damn good-looking if he didn't have death permanently in his eyes. Chick were right to stay the fuck away from the psycho. If any of them touched him, he'd rip out their hearts with one hand.  
PJ rolled his eyes at me. I got what he was saying. Ben needed a release. He'd get one soon enough. We all would. War was coming. I could fucking feel it in my bones.  
"You good, brother?" PJ asked Ben. We all just stared at him, fucking bloodletting.  
Ben walked toward me, presenting me with my bloodied knife. His black eyes blazed. "Need blood spilt. Snitch needs teaching a lesson. I got revenge burning in me, Phil. Got venom stirring my veins."  
"Brother, when we get a lead, you're up," PJ assured Ben as I nodded in agreement. Ben smiled, his white teeth shining, his black, tattooed scripted gums reading Pain silhouetted against pink flesh. "Fuck yeah!"  
Facing the rest of the brothers, I scanned for twitches or signs of fear.  
Still _nothing_.  
Not one. _Fucking_. Thing.  
As I shifted in my chair, I said "Any other business?"  
A wave of shaking heads answered the question. I grabbed the gavel, slamming it down on the hard wood.  
Turning to the brothers, PJ flashed his winning smile. "Now, don't know about you all, but I'm getting me some pussy."

I rose from my chair and the brothers fled to pick their slut-for-the-night, each one silent and clearly pissed. PJ stayed behind.  
Fucking Pasquale Jordan Liguori; twenty-five, model-perfect looks, tall, lean, wavy almost curly brown hair. My oldest friend. His old man was VP to my old man. After they both met the boatman in the Irish war last year, I was voted Prez, PJ VP—only the best for the mother chapter Hangmen. We lived, breathed, and bled for Hades. When our old men died, I tried to shake the vote. Who the hell wanted a "kid" as a leader? But the brothers voted unanimous. Hades Hangmen would stay with the rightful historic line. At the age of twenty-seven, I found myself Prez of the most notoriously lethal MC in all Europe.  
No fucking pressure.  
 _Yeah fucking right!_  
PJ put his hand on my shoulder. "We'll get them. No one crosses us, Phil. Everyone knows how we run things around England. Fuckers just signed their own death warrant."  
I huffed a laugh and ran my hand over my cheeks. "Me and you are going to sort this quick. Right?"  
He smiled that damn cheesy smile. "Right."  
Sighing, I said, "FUCK! You should be Prez, PJ."  
PJ went nose-to-nose with me. "Should I fuck! You use your hands as your words. You lead by example, brother. You're always there at the front line, taking and delivering the first round of fire. You are the Hangmen's Prez, so shut the fuck up! Your old man always meant for you to follow him, just like his old man before him. Yeah, it may have come a few years early, but you've been taking names around these parts for years. Age isn't anything but a damn number in this life. It's all about guts and you have that shit in spades! Christ, Phil, you're the infamous Hangmen Prez!"

Stepping back, PJ rubbed his hands together, smiling wide. "Plus, I'm too pretty to be in charge. I get on just fine with being your mouthpiece. Don't you know I love the sound of my own voice!"  
Hell, he had that right. Sometimes I wondered what the hell he was doing wasting his life in this club. His looks, his personality giving him what he needed to succeed elsewhere. But like me, it's all we know. We're lifers—born and bred to wear a cut.  
No way out.  
Didn't want out either.  
PJ threw an arm around my shoulders. "So now you've quit being a weeping pussy, are you going to get Charlie to relieve some stress?"  
"Yeah."  
"Cool. I got dibs on Tiff and Jules. You want to see them licking on each other, man. Makes me blow every time. Especially when I see their asses. Cracking view…"He waited for my response. "You get it…cracking…cause of the ass…"  
Christ, he's a slut…and a shit comedian to boot. As I walked out of the office, the whole room quieted as I tipped my chin toward Charlie across the bar. Brothers hated being on the outs with me, but this kind of fucked-up shit didn't go down at my club. Not without some serious fucking consequences. Charlie slipped off the stool and began making her way to me, her tall, lithe body strutting like a damn model in her short black dress. Her old man used to be a brother until a collision took him out five years ago—Harley totaled, head split open, asphalt roadkill, skin hanging like ribbons from the trees.  
He went to Hades—Charlie became another club whore.  
The sound of heeled cowboy boots on the wooden floor followed me out back into the yard. Stopping at our usual spot against the clubhouse wall, I pulled out a smoke from my pocket, lit up and took a long, hard pull. Without a word, Charlie dropped to her knees, her big tits busting out of her dress and she pulled out my cock, wrapping those lips around it like a fucking wet fist.

The back of my head hit the wall, my eyes closed as she worked that tongue around the tip, and I enjoyed my smoke as she suckled down hard. Fuck. This was what I needed. Stress draining from my body with every scrape of her teeth along my dick. I wrapped my fingers in her long brown hair, slamming in farther and farther until it was time to blow. Charlie just took it, mewling, lapping at my cock like a starving kitten at milk.  
My legs bent as I braced and came, shooting to the back of her throat. She drank it down, moaning. Sighing in relief, I opened my eyes and took one final pull of my smoke before flicking the cherry to the ground. Backing her off my junk, I belted up my jeans.  
As I pushed off the wall, I noticed a red pool on the asphalt beneath my feet. Blood lay below Charlie. Red streaks were dashed all over the inside of her thighs.

Charlie caught my hard stare and, frowning, she glanced down to her knees. "What…? Shit! Is that blood on my legs?" She jumped up and tried to wipe the red liquid from her skin. "Where the hell's it coming from?"  
I tracked the blood with my eyes and noticed a thin, fresh stream coming from around the back of the dumpster.  
"Jesus! Is there a dead body out here again?" Charlie said, trying to cover herself with her arms. Bitch was too soft for this kind of shit.  
Without paying her attention, I rolled the blue dumpster to the side, revealing the source. A bitch's body—young, brown hair mangled around her face. Slim body covered in mud, her white dress ripped and sopping with blood. I searched for the wound…Her leg.  
A huge, gaping gash, deep enough that her muscle was exposed, some pitted fucking rag attempting to stop the flow.

It weren't working for shit.  
Checking her pulse, not able to find even a lick of movement, I could only surmise one thing: bitch had croaked.  
I turned to Charlie, who was hovering behind.  
"Is she dead?"  
She asked. "Go get PJ, Tyler and Jack Harries." I said.  
Charlie ran for the door, hand over her mouth.  
Moving forward, I pushed the stiff's hair from her face and immediately let out a long breath.  
 _Christ_.  
She looked like she used to be a fucking stunner under all the mud and shit—creamy skin against that long brown hair, big pink lips, and killer frame. Damn shame she's gone to the boatman, she'd have been one hot fucking bitch.  
Reaching into my pocket, I laid two dimes on her eyes. Poor bitch needed to pay up to go to a better life.  
I put one arm behind her back, one behind her legs, and lifted. She weighed almost nothing. She was fucking tiny.

PJ, Tyler and Jack burst out of the doors behind me. My VP rolled his eyes and groaned as he pulled up his zipper—brother must've been busy. "Not another one of them! I know. I'll kill a bitch and dump the stiff on the Hangmen. Cocksuckers. Fucking had to tear myself from underneath the licking twins for this shit!"  
I tipped my chin at Tyler, the prospect moved forward and I dumped the bitch in his arms. "Get the van. You're going to dump the stiff. Usual place. Make sure the coins stay on." I said. PJ, still pissed he'd been dragged away from his sluts. And then I fucking froze— lungs stopped, eyes bugged, heart jumped—froze. She flinched and moaned, dimes slipping off her face to clatter on the ground.  
"She isn't dead!" Tyler blurted. As usual, stating the fucking obvious.  
"Shit! Are we going to dump her? Or we keeping her here? The Feds are watching us, Phil. We have two agents stationed undercover half a mile away. The good old Mayor of Manchester still on our backs. It'll be risky to carry some bloodied bitch out of here without being pulled and questioned. Don't have those fuckers on the payroll."  
PJ slapped my back and pointed to the bitch. "Could be a message from someone, or she could have been planted to put us in shit with the law." I heard what PJ was saying, but I couldn't stop glancing at the bitch's pale face. She looked familiar somehow, but I couldn't place from where.  
Shaking my head, I looked to my best friend. "Yeah. No getting out tonight. Bitch is gonna have to stay. Fuck! Just what we need."  
I looked over to Jack, who was standing silently behind PJ. Brother had almost as much to say as me. Jack was ex-marine and fully trained as a medic. Saw some shit he couldn't deal with left. Fortunately for us, all the brother wanted to do when he got off service was ride and serve this club. Jack could stitch something fierce and even operate if need be. Saved our outlaw asses more times than I could count.

I indicted for him to take possession of the half-dead stiff. He would see what's up and either be able to fix the bitch or not. Hell, it's not like death was a stranger around these parts. Sent more brothers to Hades this past year than are still standing in this club, fucking war. Death's a cycle. Sooner or later we all have meet the boatman, pay up for the fucked-up shit we'd done in this life.  
Jack reached for the bitch, when suddenly, she jerked in Tyler's arms, her eyes springing open, fixing right on mine, pure fear bursting through for less than a second before shuttering down again. Fuck me. Those eyes. Even through all the blood, mud, and shit on her face, those eyes fucking shone—chocolate-brown, like a goddamn wolf's. Only seen one pair of eyes like that before…  
I couldn't help but think of that young bitch from behind the fence fifteen years ago. A long, pained groan slipped from her mouth, causing me to refocus.  
 _Shit_.  
PJ moved to pull her from Tyler's arms. "Give her to me. Going to dump her in your room, Jack, then get back to licking Tiff's and Jules's pussies. Fucking bitch isn't cockblocking me anymore tonight."  
I watched as PJ touched her skin and all I could see was that young bitch behind the fence. Fuck! What if it was her? Nah, impossible. Lot of bitches have those eyes. Right? _Right_?  
Thinking I'd pulled my shit together, I relaxed. But when PJ took her in his arms, I lunged for him and grabbed his arm in my hand, dropping it only to say, "Back the fuck off. Give her to me."

My VP stepped back, his eyebrows bunched, trying to read my mood. "What the fuck?" He said out loud. The other brothers frowned in confusion. Charlie's red-lipped mouth dropped open.  
Shaking my head, I said, "Back off. Give her to me. NOW."  
PJ, looking confused as all hell, put her in my arms, and raising up his hands, backed away. Tyler gaped at me like goddamned fish.  
"What the hell, man? I'm back, I'm back. Okay. Calm the fuck down!"  
I cradled her to my chest, some possessive voodoo shit taking over my mind, body…my soul.  
I headed for the door, ignoring everyone but the bitch in my arms—pasty dying skin…white dying lips…bleeding, dying body.  
 _Shit!_  
"Where're you taking her? What the fuck's got into you?" PJ stayed behind me, his roll of questions pulling in the attention of the whole damn club drinking and whoring in the lounge.  
I pointed to my private apartment above the garage, clutching the bitch to my chest.  
"Your apartment?" Charlie caught up to my fast stride, trying to catch my eye. "Your bedroom in your apartment? You're taking her to your apartment, above the garage? No one goes there but you. Said so yourself." Stopping short, I faced her and jerked my chin, telling her to get the fuck out of my face.

"Are you serious?" She whispered, all hurt and upset, before seeing my pissed expression and walked off slowly back into the bar.  
PJ flanked me as I ran up the stairs and kicked open the door to my place. Laying the bitch on my king-size bed, I leaned over, shoving back the clumps of dirty hair from her face. Mud and blood instantly stained my black sheets.  
"Phil. What the hell? You need to start explaining, brother," PJ said, running his hand through his hair. We were alone, Tyler and Jack out of sight.  
Clenching my hand into a fist, I tried to calm down.  
PJ grabbed my arms and kicked my bedroom door shut, immediately blocking out the noise from the brothers who were gathering downstairs, and growled, "Calm the fuck down. Look at you! You're too wound up to speak."  
I stopped fighting him off. Getting my breathing under control. PJ seeing me simmer down, relaxed his hold. "Jack's on his way. Had to get his med kit." He nodded to the bitch on my bed. "She's in a bad way." I nodded and he released my arms. I walked into the bathroom and wet a towel, then set to clean up her face. Pale skin, brown hair…just like that young bitch behind the fence. My VP watched me as though I'd lost my damn mind.  
Maybe I had.  
"Seriously, man. What the fuck's happening?" He stood at the other side of the bed as I mopped up her blood. PJ just gaped at me. I was distracted by her leg—long, slim, porcelain, per-fuckin'-fection.  
Hearing PJ cough, I sighed, then pressed the rag down to apply pressure to her wound. "Remember that story I told you when I was a kid?"

PJ's face straightened, expression disbelieving. "Not this shit again, Phil. The girl behind the metal fence? The 'wolf-eyed' bitch you obsessed over for years until your old man forced you to finally shut the fuck up? If it's that story, then, _yeah, I remember_!"  
Dragging my bottom lip between my teeth, I talked myself back from punching my best friend's nose through his goddamn brain. "Yeah, that girl." "So? You were like, thirteen? Personally, I always thought you fucking dreamed it." All the brothers back then thought I made it up or imagined it. So did I after a while. Thought maybe I'd had a fever or some shit. I don't know, maybe I'd talked to a fucking ghost.  
I pointed at the bitch and stared at my VP.

PJ walked over to where I sat and leaned against the wooden wall, arms folded. "You think this dying bitch is her?" He started laughing, head thrown back. Fucking hysterical laughter spouted from his mouth. "You have lost your mind. Too much stress with the fucked drop tonight. The chances of this piece of pussy being her are not good. I'll never understand why you still remember that bitch anyway. If your old man was here, he'd beat the shit out of you…again."  
I met my VP's stare head on and said, "I'll give you exactly five seconds to shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you and ruin your goddam pretty-boy looks."  
PJ cleared his throat and wiped the grin off his face. Good choice. No one messes with me and walks away. He knew it. My brothers knew it. Hell, every damn MC in Europe knew it. If my old man was still alive and tried to knock some sense into me, I'd shove his teeth down his fucking throat too.  
"So you think this random bitch, is Wolf Eyes? The weird Amish Pilgrim-looking girl you met fifteen years ago…behind a metal fence…in the middle of some fucking forest…while your old man was putting a damn Brandy in the ground? Have I got that right? The piece of ass you turned into a weeping, pining pussy for?"  
With only a hunch of my shoulders, I managed to ignore his dick tone. "Those wolf eyes." I stood and began pacing. "I know I sound like a whining fuck. But what if it is her? What the hell's happened to her leg? And more importantly, where's she been all these bastard years? Still caged in that fucking concentration camp that I've never found since? Still not talking, scared of her own fucking shadow?"

PJ stared down at her on the bed, an expression of pure disbelief on his face. She looked like a fucking angel that just dropped in on me from the sky—tiny, fragile…I bent beside her, just staring. PJ moved in front of me to catch the movement of my hands.  
"Never found out what was behind that fence. Tried to get information—none to get. No one's even heard of the place. A fucking Auschwitz near Manchester. Of course, it doesn't help when you don't even know the fucking location—my old man kept that locked up tight, I was too young to remember the directions. Wherever she's come from is iron clad. Protected. Can only mean there's some seriously fucked-up shit going down. Fucked-up shit protected by powerful people. People who will no doubt be looking for her right now."  
Carefully, PJ watched me. I could see real worry in his face. "I haven't ever seen you like this, brother. Are you going soft on me? Bikes and pussy, Phil, that's how we live. Ride hard; die harder. Club first, no distractions."  
Yeah, he was right. I _was_ being a sappy shit. No way was this her anyhow. Fucking wishful thinking.  
Moving over to the table, I poured two glasses of Jim, downed mine, and passed one to my VP.  
" I've thought about that girl every day. Fifteen fucking years. You and me grew up in hell…darkness. She was the first bit of good I ever saw." I choked on a laugh. "Fucking first kiss, man."

PJ slapped me on the back, grinning. "And two years later, you fucked your first club slut and never looked back."  
Yeah. Sunk my dick deep in one of Hangmen's favorite sluts at age thirteen, courtesy of my old man trying to make me forget about the pilgrim bitch. He even changed the stiff drop site so I'd let go of anything to do with her.  
PJ lost his smile and stood right in front of me. "Look, man. Doesn't look like she'll last the night. Make peace, brother. You meeting that girl was a moment in time, and if this is her, which I'm pretty fucking sure it isn't, about time you put that shit to bed. She's on her way to Hades, Phil. Time to wake the fuck up and get back to being the Prez. We've too much shit going down to be distracted by pussy." He reached behind me and passed me the full bottle of Beam.  
Jack knocked on the door. I quickly gripped my best friend's arm. "None of this shit to the brothers. This info stays between us. Just another Jane Doe dumped on us, right?"  
His stiff head nod told me he understood.  
Jack walked in, ready for business.  
"Let me take a look at her," He said, moving to the bed, all business. "Phil found her behind the dumpster. She's bleeding out from her leg. Looks like a bite, dog maybe? Pulse is low too. Bitch is dying," PJ informed.  
Jack set to examining the bitch as I watched. For the first time in my life, I prayed to a God I weren't on good terms with. No one here was. In this kind of life we were tight with the other side of the coin. But she had to survive. That much I knew. That's what I prayed for, bartering with promises I no doubt couldn't keep. Truth was I just had to know if it was her or not. Finally put that fucking weird chapter of my life to rest.

"What the—"My eyes shot up to PJ, who hovered over her newly cleaned wrist, the one Jack was holding out as he checked her pulse. Moving next to PJ, I frowned as he read her small tattoo out loud. "Revelation 21: 8. What the fuck?"  
" _But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death_."

PJ and I froze as Jack started spouting some Bible shit like a preacher, never missing a beat. Seeing us gaping, he cleared his throat, cheeks blazing red, eyes darting between us and the ground, mumbling, "It's scripture about sinners going to hell." Then he set back to work. PJ elbowed me in my ribs and raised his brows in question. I shrugged. Whatever a brother believed in private was his deal.  
After twenty minutes of watching Jack silently sterilize and stitch practically every inch of the bitch's body, he led me out of the room, shaking his head.  
"Doesn't look good, Phil. She's lost a lot of blood. Savage dog bite. Rottweiler or pit bull's my guess—ripped muscle and tendons, probable infection. She's going to need blood. I got a contact. I'll get her blood type with the kit from my bag, put in a call. Supplier can normally be here within thirty minutes. Don't come cheap, though, and then we'll see if she's strong enough to pull through." Jack glanced across at the bitch unconscious in the bed and rubbed a hand across his head. "Fucking going to be a rough few days."  
I nodded stiffly and placed an appreciative hand on his shoulder. With that, I headed back into the main base and over to the bar.  
Tyler asked, "You good, Prez?"  
I nodded and he pointed to the bottles of liquor behind the bar.  
"What can I get you?"  
Sucking in a deep breath, I pointed to the Beam. I needed it large and I needed it to keep coming


	6. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
Phil**  
"What's your name?"  
Silence.  
"What's this place?"  
Silence.  
"Phil…PHIL!"  
"Please…What's your name?"  
"I am Sin. We are all sin…"  
I snapped out of my daze. Someone was shaking my shoulder. I looked up. Charlie. She pulled up a stool beside me as I refocused on the amber liquid, almost empty, in my glass. _Shit_. How many had I had?  
"What's going down with that girl?"  
I didn't bother giving her a response.  
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, hand on my shoulder. Bitch was a total fucking sweetheart. Shouldn't have got handed this shit deal in life.  
Tipping back the last of my fifth Beam, I stood and began walking out of the bar to my club room. Halfway to the exit, I glanced back over my shoulder, seeing Charlie watching me go, fucking eyes shining. With a tip of my chin at her, I set to walking once more.  
As I opened the door to my room, I sensed her behind me. Spinning around, I took her by the top of her arms, ripping off her dress.  
"Phil…"she moaned breathlessly. "I love you, Phil. I'm here for you, baby…"  
As I ripped down the straps of her black bra, her lips sucked at my neck. Shedding my cut, I tugged off my black shirt and yanked open the zipper of my jeans. No boxers to shed underneath.

Turning Charlie to face the wall, I guided us to the unmade bed—the bed I saved for fucking, stained with cum and sweat. Pushing on her neck, head to the mattress, I kept her full ass up in the air—no panties, pussy bald, just how I liked it. Easy access. Reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, I picked out a Trojan and wrapped it on my cock.  
"Take me, Phil. Take me…hard."  
Grabbing her boney hips, I slammed into her wet pussy, throwing my head back on a silent hiss. Fuck. This was why I kept her around just for my personal use.  
Charlie whimpered beneath me and started rocking back along my dick. I knew I was fucked the minute I imagined Charlie's tanned skin pale in color, her shoulder-length brown hair grow out to her back and deepen to a dark brown, and when her head turned and her blue eyes faced me, I only saw a pair of chocolate-brown irises looking back, the lids hooded in pleasure.  
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pictured Jane Doe below me, thrashing wild, screaming out in pleasure and coming over and over again while I took her raw. The thought had my cock twitching and my neck cording, coming so hard I had to use my fists to balance on the mattress.  
"Baby…. That was…amazing." My eyes flew open as Charlie panted below me, her back dripping with sweat, a huge smile on her lips as she looked back at me.  
 _Shit_.

Pulling out, I snapped off the rubber and zipped up my jeans, just as a hard rap sounded at my door. Throwing on my Muse shirt, I ran a hand through my hair, checking to make sure Charlie was dressing too. She was. She knew she wasn't welcome to stick around.  
The door opened and PJ and Jack stood before me, my VP shaking his head. "There you are, man. I've been calling your name for the last few minutes."  
I looked at Jack and hid my anxiousness with my usual indifferent scowl.

"News?" I asked.  
Jack sighed as I led the brothers into the bar. I caught Charlie closing the door to my room. Throwing me a small smile, she headed in the direction of the other club whores.  
Jack, PJ and I sat at my usual table, and I leaned back to hear the verdict.  
"She's sticking around for now. She's had three pints of blood, an IV of strong antibiotics. Temperature's come down, vitals are stabilizing. She's strong, healthy. Early twenties I'd guess, but fucking dangerously undernourished. We'll see how the night plays out. She gets through the next twenty-four hours, she'll probably make it."  
Probably. Not good enough, not nearly good enough, but if it's all I got, I'd take it.  
I tapped the bar, Tyler slipping his short pale ass behind it.  
"What you guys want? Beer?" he asked, his usual fucking happy grin on his face. The brother was the happiest damn recruit we'd ever had. The kid seemed too pure to deal with what this club throws your way.

Giving a nod, I signaled for two, passed the Buds to my brothers, and tipped my chin at Jack in thanks. Slapping PJ on the back, I headed to my apartment.  
Getting through the hallway and up the stairs, I immediately froze in the doorway to my room. If possible, Jane Doe looked even hotter the second time around, despite the wires poking into her flesh, but she needed cleaning up.  
Marzia. I'd get Marzia.  
Walking into the lounge of the clubhouse, brothers watched me as I entered, lying with their sluts for the night on the red leather sofas, some pausing in their pussy fingering, as did those chilling, and playing pool. I'd obviously caused some talk as everyone stilled when they saw me, eying me weird.  
Signaling to Felix to meet me at the farthest bar, out of earshot, I sat down. Two bourbons were waiting, courtesy of Tyler. First glass went straight down the hatch.  
"S'up, Prez?" Felix slumped into the chair, knocking back his amber shot, all in one fluid motion.  
"Gotta job for Marzia" I signed. Felix was one of the brothers who'd been 'round long enough to understand me. Him and his old lady, that is.  
"What you need?" He asked.  
I slammed back a second shot.  
"Need her to come and clean the Jane Doe at my place. No fucker in here's touching her. Marzia's the only old lady I trust…and can stomach to be around."

Felix cracked a small, proud smile. "I'll give her a call. Anything else?" He needed to smile. Brother knew he lucked out with his woman—younger by a couple of years, light brown hair, petite, total fucking sweetheart. The ex-Swedish mafia member has done good. Still looked like he belonged in there, but he was cool now. No beef with anyone so long as they don't fuck over the club—his family—even went so far as to cover his Mafia tats with Hades shit.  
"Need clothes too. Tell her to get them from the club stash at her store. Put it on my tab. She'll need to see her first for her size. She was wearing some weird white rag when I found her."  
Felix ran his finger around the rim of his empty glass, eying me weird. "Why the special treatment, Prez? We've had injured dumped here before. They'd normally be gone by now, not sleeping in your bed. Why's she different? You got the brothers talking."  
Only PJ knew 'bout that night years ago. Not into sharing it with the others. None of their fucking business.

I rolled my head in his direction and just eyeballed the fucker.  
"Message received." Felix flicked his phone open, and made the call to Marzia. Brother knew when to dig and when to quit. Years doing time inside, fighting rival crews for his life taught him that lesson.  
I listened to him give his old lady the instruction, then hang up. "She'll be here in ten."  
"Send her straight in to my place. Backdoor. No one else disturbs me until then. Right? "  
"Right, Phil. I'll let the brothers know."  
A couple of minutes later, I entered my room, slipping off my leather cut, hanging it on the hook on the back of my door. The bitch lay motionless in the middle of my bed. Taking advantage of the alone time, I checked Jack hadn't yet returned, then moved to the bed.  
No change.  
Walking into my bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair was sticking up all over the place, cheeks unshaven and blue eyes tired. I glanced to the inked sleeves on both arms. The right depicting Hades on his throne with Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog. The left, a map of Underworld: Tartarus, the Elysian Fields, the Three Judges, the Five Rivers, and above them all, Persephone, the pure goddess wife of Hades, proud to be at her man's side. My version of Persephone had long brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes.  
 _Go fucking figure_.  
I chuffed at my reflection. Phil, man, you're losing your fucking mind!  
Slipping off my black shirt, I stared at my bare chest, free of ink, with my Hangmen patch tattoo covering my entire back. I worked out hard to relieve stress and for intimidation purposes—boxing mainly, bare-knuckle since eight years old. My old man pushed me to fight. Knew my damn stuttering as a kid would cause me shit in the MC world, so he decided to give me another way to communicate. Keeps me feared. Being Prez of a club like the Hangmen comes with some serious shit. I keep built to ensure respect. The fact that I'm six foot two and two thirty pounds helps too. Jane Doe shifted in her sleep as I scanned her frame through the reflection in the mirror. I wondered what the fuck she'd think of me.  
Big, scarred, and inked with Death himself. She'd be petrified, no doubt. Switching on the shower, I undressed and stood under the stream, Jane Doe's red blood pooling in the drain.


	7. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4  
Phil**

"Phil?"  
When I cracked open my eye, Marzia stood before me, clutching two bags with _Ride_ , the name of her biker store, written on the front. Felix leaned against the door frame, quietly watching, taking in the scene before him.  
After my shower, I'd dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, then slumped down in my chair. I must've fallen asleep. I turned my attention to Jane Doe.  
Still the same.  
"Are you okay, Phil." Marzia's voice pulled me around, her brows drawn down tight.  
I nodded and said, "You good with cleaning her up? Felix explain?"  
Marzia edged closer, light honey colored hair down, dressed in tight black jeans and a black Hangmen tank, her leather vest reading Property of Felix on the back.

She stopped at the side of the bed and caressed the bitch's head. My body froze, my stomach churning with possessiveness. I didn't like anyone but me touching her. Suddenly felt like ripping Marzia's arm out of its socket.  
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I had to stop myself from tackling Marzia out of the way.  
 _What the fuck, man? Get it the fuck together!_ I told myself.  
Marzia fixed her hazel eyes on me. She saw the conflict in my fucking psycho glare. I was sure of it. "She's beautiful." Her forehead lined. "She just turned up out nowhere, injured?"  
Jerking my chin, I ordered Felix to split. He nodded, pulled the door shut, and I stood against the wall and said, "She turned up bleeding, dying and covered in dirt. She needs cleaning. Not gonna do it. I only trust you. That's why you're here. She can't leave yet. Too many Feds on our backs. Need to find out who the fuck she is and why she's here."

I could see the questions swirling in her hazel eyes, but she knew not to dig. Marzia: best of all the old ladies. Knew when to shut her fucking mouth, unlike most of the sluts who littered the bar.  
"I'll clean her, change the sheets, and get her some clothes. I'll call you when I'm done if you'd like."  
Tipping my chin in agreement, I left Marzia with Jane Doe, her eyes burning holes in my back. I headed to the lounge, signaling to PJ to join me.  
PJ tore himself away from Tiff and Jules sucking on each other's tits, giving the boys a porn floorshow, and he followed me into my office.

"S'up, Phil? The bitch good?" PJ asked, shutting the door.  
Shrugging, I sat down behind my desk. "Still not sure. Marzia's cleaning."  
He slapped a hand on my shoulder without saying a word and sat down. "You wanna talk?"  
"Stays between us, right?" "Right." I paused, gathering my suspicions.  
"We have a rat."  
PJ froze and spoke through gritted teeth. "You certain?"  
I threw him a single nod. "That or a covert agent maybe?"  
"Shit." Nothing a brother hates more than a rat. "You're always right over shit like this, just like your old man was, born intuition. Any guess who?"

"Not yet. Some fucker told the mystery supplier about the Commi deal, no two ways about it." I took a deep breath, loosening my throat.  
"Just have to work out who and why and then send them to the boatman."  
"Plan?"  
"Not yet. Gonna see how it plays out. But I'm watching." PJ stood, pacing.  
"Who'd do it? I trust every one of these brothers, every single one. It's got to be a groupie or a nomad. Shit!"  
I stared out the small window and shrugged. He could be right. Something just didn't feel right. Something big was going down.

PJ swiveled his chair away from my desk and sat on it backward, arms resting on the backrest. "You and I never would rat. Felix, Shaun, Mark and Jack—in for life, no question."  
"Jack Harries? You certain?" I asked.  
PJ shook his head. "Not a chance he's the rat. He's got no family but us. Best damn rider we got. Does anything asked, always stitching us up after fights, works next to me in deals, goes on any run given, never questions shit. He doesn't deserve our doubt just because he's young or that he's quiet. You're only twenty-eight, brother, twenty-seven when you got Prez. No one questioned your age. Brother may only be twenty-two but was recruited just before twenty and been a fucking golden asset ever since."

I jerked my chin.  
Point made.  
PJ kept going. "Jack Howard—lifer. Tom—loyal as fuck. That only leaves Ben, who we both know is fucking psycho. The only thing keeping him from murdering a packed mall on a Saturday is his love for this club. Only leaves Tyler or the new hang arounds. They have no intel. Never get word on details. Brothers are good with Tyler, wanna patch him in soon." He shook his head and hit the back of the chair in frustration. "FUCK! Who could it be? Has to be the Feds or some cunt—tapping cells or using hidden surveillance."

For once, I didn't give a fuck about any of it. My mind was back in my room with Jane Doe.  
A hand slammed on my desktop. "Phil! Christ, man. Get it the fuck together!" PJ was scowling right in my face.  
My eyes narrowed and he tried to hide his flinch. "Don't. First and only fucking warning." I said.  
He pushed out his palms and backed the hell off. "Fine. Look, your head's not straight with the bitch here. Let me do some groundwork, set some feelers out under the radar. Keep it just between us."  
I exhaled. "Yeah. Need to know who's new to running guns in England."  
Standing up, I walked to the door, turning back to say, "Going back to my place. Marzia should be done by now. Not waiting all fucking night."  
Heading through the lounge, around the back of the compound, I climbed the stairs and knocked at my door. Pushing it open, I saw Marzia was in my bathroom, washing her hands. She looked up as I walked in.

"You done?" I asked.  
"She's clean. I'll bring clothes tomorrow after my shift at the store, she's got on a robe for now." Walking beside the bed, she looked up at me, shaking her head. "She's slim, Phil. Too slim if you ask me. The girl doesn't eat anything by the looks of her."  
I finally let myself check out the bitch on the bed. Damn. She knocked the breath right out of me: smooth complexion, freshly washed and dried brown hair free of blood and dirt.  
 _Hell. It had to be her…_  
Marzia gathered her things. With a small smile, she paused to say, "She looks like Snow White, Phil. Dark hair, pale skin, red lips. She's stunning, not a scratch of makeup, but still looks like that. Not fair! No wonder the club sluts are whining about you keeping her back here to yourself. They have nothing on her."

I released a pent-up sigh.  
Snow. Fuckin'. White.  
I could feel Marzia looking at me funny, her hands twisting together as I stared in a damn trance at the bed. Her gaze dropped, nerves pulsing from her awkwardness.  
Frowning, I asked "What?"  
Marzia closed her eyes briefly and opened them on a sigh.  
"She has a lot of scars on her body, Phil" I stilled, heart pumping, rage building, and asked,  
"Where?"

But Marzia's eyes were fixed on the bed. Spinning her around by her arm, I demanded, "Where?"  
"Mostly her back. Look like pretty severe lash marks. They go from side to side like someone's whipped her good. But…who would do that? Who gets lashed nowadays?"  
I raised a questioning eyebrow as Marzia's gaze saddened.  
"Has some on her inner thighs too. Look like old cuts, blade marks…or…something worse." She didn't go further, letting the implication hang in the air.

Fuck. Marzia walked toward the door, laying a hand on my rigid arm as she passed. "I hope she pulls through, Phil. Looks like she deserves a better life than the one she has."  
I couldn't respond. Couldn't think. _Scars on her fucking inner thighs…  
_ I sat on the chair next to the bed, watching the bitch's chest rise and fall. I leaned in, took a deep breath, working my throat like hell to manage a whisper.  
"If you can hear me, pull through. Wake the fuck up. I've been waiting on you coming back to me for fifteen fucking years. No dying on me now, you hear me?"


	8. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5  
Danielle**

 _A long sleeveless flowing gown of white stared at me as I huddled against the cold wall on the floor of my room with my legs pulled firmly to my chest._  
 _A gown. A white marital gown mocking me, teasing me, telling me by sundown today I would be married. The seventh wife of Prophet David. The wife revealed to him by God. I would be the one to bring eternal blessings to all in The Order—his chosen people. I would help redeem the status of the Cursed, absolve us of our sins._  
 _Leaning my head against the gray brick wall of my quarters, I closed my eyes, imagining what it would be like to be free. What was life like outside of the great fence? Were people truly evil out there? Did everyone on Earth want to inflict harm on us? Did men really just want to possess and ruin women?_

 _I did not know. Sometimes I doubted Prophet David's teachings, but I would never say that out loud. No one questioned the teachings—at least those who wanted to avoid punishment. I knew nothing of life beyond these walls, and after tonight, my duty would be as head wife. I would never be able to leave._  
 _Rubbing my shaking hands down my face, my stomach flipped. I just could not do it. And worse, I had no idea where my oldest sister was. My blood sister, Cat, who disappeared weeks ago—no sign, no contact, simply vanished. No one would tell me where she had gone. After too many days of silence, I had begun to fear the worst. Brother Gabriel knew something. The way he looked at me, smirking, almost gloating, gave it away. He had grown obsessed with Cat over the years, but she never returned the sentiment. You could see in his eyes that he wanted her to pay for her indifference toward him._

 _A sharp knock interrupted my wayward thoughts. Sister Eve walked into my room, clutching a garland of fresh white flowers in her wizened hand. She spotted me on the floor and stomped in my direction._  
 _"Get up, you insolent child. Why are you not in deep prayer? Do you realize the significance of this night, of your marriage; the significance to us all?"_  
 _I was jerked off the floor as her hand gripped my upper arm and pulled me to a standing position. Sister Eve, one of the twelve Originals and the woman I both feared and disliked most, was here to aid me in my preparations. The feeling of dislike was mutual. The envious jealousy seeping from her large, aging body was so intense it thickened the humid air around us. I was one of the four Cursed. One of four females classed as too tempting to men. One of four who were segregated from the rest of the commune, as it is believed the devil had a hand in our creation. The four consisted of my blood sisters Cat and Deana, our friend Christina, and me._

 _"Sister Danielle! You best pull yourself together and get dressed." Sister Eve wrenched me closer to whisper in my ear, "You are not worthy of Prophet David in my eyes, but God chose you as the seventh wife and I cannot doubt the revelation."_  
 _I bowed my head. Sister Eve was a superior and I did not want to face the punishment of disobedience. Lashes, lots and lots of lashes._  
 _"Yes, Sister, I understand. I will begin to dress immediately."_  
 _She walked to the table and laid down the floral head garment, fragrant vanilla oil, and white ceremonial sandals. She held the edge of the table for a few seconds before facing me, lips tight, and hesitation in her stance._

 _"You will need to take special care this evening in your consummation."_  
 _I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. Prophet David had a disease. Puss leaked from huge, gaping sores all over his skin and I had been instructed on how to care for him, but the duty made me feel sick at the thought._  
 _"Prophet David, due to his ailments, finds it difficult to become…aroused sexually. You will need to take great care in preparing him for your joining this eve. Your union will change the fate of us all and must be sealed under God's eyes. You must fall pregnant to complete the prophecy."_

 _My legs wobbled as I thought of what I must do. Prophet David was in his seventies, very overweight, and apparently smelled…badly. When I was thirteen, he declared I would be his wife when I reached the age of twenty-four—the Lord revealed it to him whilst he was in exile out of the The Order. My fate was sealed from that day forth._  
 _Sister Eve took my chin in her hands. "You understand, Danielle?"_  
 _I bowed. "Yes, Sister."_  
 _She nodded curtly. "I must go to the altar. I shall return within the hour to bring you to your wedding. Be ready."_

 _With that she exited my room._  
 _Sinking to the floor once more, I resumed my staring at the long white gown. Trepidation swelled in my stomach as I thought of the task I must endure. I had no idea why I was deemed worthy, but then I would not wish this duty on anyone else._  
 _I dressed quickly in my gown after pouring anointing vanilla oil on my naked skin. Letting my long hair down from my wrap, I placed my flower garland upon my head and crept to the door, searching for a disciple guard. The hallway was deserted, so I quietly ran along the corridor and out into the courtyard. The entire house was empty and silent and I needed to breathe fresh air._

 _"Danielle!" A loud whisper sounded from the west side of the building. Turning my head in search, I spotted Christina. Picking up the bottom of my gown, I ran forward, ushering her behind the tall brick wall, out of sight._  
 _"What are you doing here? You will be punished if you are found!" Checking over my shoulder, I failed to immediately notice Chris's red eyes and flushed skin._  
 _"Dan…"Chris whispered, softer this time, her quiet tone sending chills down my spine._  
 _"What? What is it?"_  
 _Reaching out, Chris's hand encased mine and squeezed. I knew in an instant what was wrong._  
 _Cat._  
 _"What has happened to her?" I asked quietly._  
 _"She…she…Dean and I just found out where she is being kept…"_  
 _Jerking my best friend forward, I prompted, "Where? Where do they have her?"_

 _Sucking in a shaky breath, Chris revealed, "Imprisoned…but…"_  
 _"But what?"_  
 _"Dan, she did not look well. She met my eyes, but her expression was not right. I fear…I fear she is fading. I think she has been there for a long time. We were ordered to deliver dinner to the guards at a new location and…and we…saw her, Dan. My goodness…"She failed to finish her sentence, her pale hand covering her mouth._  
 _Feeling as though my heart had just been ripped in two, I set off at a run._  
 _"Dan!"_  
 _I glanced behind me and spotted Chris chasing after me. Thrusting out my hand, I grabbed hers and asked, "Where is she? Show me!"_  
 _A long moment passed before she said, "I shall lead."_

 _We headed down a tree-lined path and over two gardens. My heart raced, my pulse throbbed, my stomach churned, and a light sheen of sweat spread across my forehead. Turning in the direction of the altar, we passed through the forest rather than risk the exposed path that would lead to the ceremony and the waiting congregation. As we neared the forest edge, I spotted a stone building: a stone building with a small black-barred gate. And just through the iron bars of that gate was a body, the slight frame of a young female lying face down, unmoving on the hard floor._

 _A sob clawed its way from my throat as I burst from the trees, my legs moving of their own accord._  
 _My sister. Approaching the rear of the building, I was about to break the tree line when I was knocked down and roughly pulled back under the cover of the trees. I scrambled to be free, clawing at the skin of the person who held me back._  
 _"Danielle, it is Christina. Stop!" She whispered gently but firmly._  
 _I froze, tears streaming down my cheeks. "What have they done to her? She is not moving!"_

 _Christina held her hand to her mouth, lips trembling, shaking her head in sorrow. "I do not know. I do not know what has been done."_  
 _As I scanned the area, I could not see a guard. I ran to the bars of the gate. Clutching the thick steel rods, I whispered, "Cat?"_  
 _My sister lay on the floor, dirtied and bloodied, her body too thin and her black hair matted in clumps. The twitch of her finger signaled that she had heard my voice. With painfully slow movements and great effort, Cat managed to raise her head just an inch off the stone floor and then I noticed scripture painted along on the ceiling of the cell._  
 _"Revelation 2: 20," I whispered out loud._  
 _"Notwithstanding I have a few things against thee, because thou sufferest that woman Jezebel, which calleth herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fornication, and to eat things sacrificed unto idols," Chris recited from memory and my stomach churned._

 _My hand automatically went to my mouth. What had they done to her? She was so thin._  
 _"D-Da—" Cat tried to say my name, but her voice was almost non-existent. She tried to open her eyes, but they were bruised and swollen shut, her crusty lashes covered in a mass of dried blood._  
 _"I am here, Cat. Lord! I am here!" I said, slamming myself farther against the iron bars, reaching through as far as I could to grip her boney finger with my hand. Cat exhaled and her lips curved into a broken smile._  
 _"I am glad." She coughed and moaned in pain, struggling to move an inch. "I am glad you found me before it was too late."_

 _"What have they done to you?" I hissed as I gazed at her battered body. Huge pools of dried blood covered the stone floor, her dress was ripped at the back, and her skin was marked with deep gashes from the leather lash. But the bottom of her dress…the blood…Oh no…they…I…could not even think it, let alone ask her if she had been taken against her will. Handprint bruises covered every inch of her thighs. There were discarded whips leaning against the wall at the back of the cell._  
 _"Disobeyed…" She whispered. Cat tried to crawl closer to me, my hand now fully encompassing hers as I aided her tired movements._  
 _"Disobeyed what…who?" I questioned as she resettled near the gate, smiling weakly as she inhaled the fresh air of the late afternoon, the sun warming her cheeks._  
 _"Gabriel… Disobeyed in my duty… To be with him… Resisted… He said I was selfish…" Her brows furrowed in confusion. "I cannot… Remember the rest…It is all blurry…"_  
 _Sucking in a sharp breath, I whispered, "No, sister!" A quiet sob slipped from her throat, but the tears could not escape her swollen eyes._

 _"I cannot remember… Anything…I think…I was drugged…I…"_  
 _"Cat, I am so sorry…"_  
 _"Shh…it's not your fault…" Wincing, biting back pain, Cat managed to shuffle._  
 _"No!" I cried in despair as I slumped down to the ground once more, Chris this time following suit. Stretching out her boney hand, I grasped my sister's fingers once more and kissed the broken skin on her palm._

 _"I want to go, an. I want to be with our Lord. I cannot keep living like this," She confessed._  
 _"No, Cat, please…I need you."_  
 _"I think she has been in this cell, kept like this, for a long time. Dean and I heard a guard say it has been weeks. Too long, Dan. Cat is badly injured…badly…hurt," Chris whispered._  
 _"Where is Dean?" I suddenly asked, fear seizing my body at the thought of my younger sister being taken too. Chris ran her shaky hands down her face._  
 _"Brother Moses took her for his Lord's sharing." I winced. She would come back even more of an introvert. Every time Moses took her away for his release, he did things to her. Dean was a shell: never speaking, barely living. She was a walking ghost._

 _"Please…" I cried out in frustration to no one, but Cat's weak squeeze of my hand in hers showed me how far gone she truly was…that she was fading away. "Please…please stay with me, just while I—" She coughed up blood; streaks of red dripped down her chin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I stroked her head in comfort._  
 _With a sigh, she forced out, "I must go now, Dan. I must rest. I am so tired…" Her eyes cracked open a fraction and with renewed determination, Cat urged, "When the last breath leaves my body, you run, my sister, you run… And keep running…"_  
 _Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I whispered, "I love you, Cat. I am so sorry…"_  
 _That small, sweet smile of hers returned to her bruised lips but for a moment, and she hushed out, "And I you, my beloved sister. More than you know… Tell Dean…good-bye…"_

 _I do not know how much time passed as I watched her chest slowly rise and fall, but I knew the moment my sister left me. Her hand fell limp in my hand and an eerie stillness seeped into her tiny, broken frame. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I felt Christina wrap her arms around me from behind, rubbing at my back, trying to be a comfort._  
 _My throat became so clogged that I scraped at the skin of my neck with frantic fingers just searching for relief._  
 _"Christina, I cannot lose her. She is my family, my best friend, besides you and Dean. She is my everything."_  
 _"I know, sister, I know. But it is God's plan."_  
 _"Danielle, where are you going?" I had not even realized I had stood up and started running, that is until Christina's hand grabbed my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks—her fingers firmly gripping the material of my bridal gown._  
 _"Wait!" She commanded._  
 _In reply, I gripped her hand and pulled hard, demanding, "Come with me. We will find Deana, then go." "Where?" "Outside."_  
 _Her brown eyes widened. "Outside where?"_  
 _"Outside the fence. I cannot stay."_  
 _"But you are meant to marry Prophet David within the hour! Danielle, do not disobey or you too shall be punished. I can take no more. Deana can take no more!"_  
 _"Gabriel and Prophet David have killed my sister! How can I marry the prophet now? How can I stay here a moment longer when he sanctions such punishments?"_

 _"But… But… The revelation. You are twenty-four today. You must marry for all our sakes. We will all be damned if not!" My boiling blood cooled rapidly and my previously unshakable faith cracked like ice on a winter lake. "May God strike Prophet David down and may he burn in hell for all eternity! I believe in good, not sacrifice. I believe in forgiveness, not revenge. The Lord I believe in is compassionate and good. I see none of that in the prophet or the disciples. Where was forgiveness with my sister? Where was compassion with the sisters all of our lives? I am through with this miserable life! This cannot be God's way; I refuse to believe it any longer. Prophet David has bastardized a pure faith. I no longer believe in anything he and his loyal disciples say!"_  
 _Christina gasped and backed away. "You blaspheme, Danielle."_  
 _"I DO NOT CARE!" I screamed, my eyes darting around to check I had not been heard. Christina was watching me with tears falling down her cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest betraying her fear._  
 _Pushing my hands out in surrender, I begged, "Please, Christina, escape, come with me. There must be more to life than this. For us all." Her head shook back and forth._

 _"No, outside is evil. Evil stalks. It waits for us to be weak—you know the teachings, the warnings. You will be in danger outside. You will be swayed from the righteous path. And Deana… Deana will not go with you either. She does not even like to leave our quarters, never mind go out there!" She was plain wrong about the outside. Had to be. There was no righteous path to be found here. I will take my chances out there, outside the fence._  
 _"I must go. Do not tell anyone you saw me, please."_  
 _"Danielle, I cannot lie. It is a sin. I will be punished." She was right, of course._  
 _"Then disappear for a while. Give me time to get free, anything."_  
 _"The fence is too high. They will not allow you to leave. You will have to pass over miles of harsh land, and then where will you go? We have never been outside, Danielle. We do not know what is out there. The disciples will find you. They always find those who try to break free." |_  
 _Her breath hitched. "You know how they treat deserters, Dan. I… I cannot lose you too…"_

 _"That may all be true, but I will try regardless. Go back to your room and stay hidden. If they find you, do not lie about what I have done. Protect yourself first. Protect Dean."_  
 _I moved toward my closest friend and held her tightly in my arms, memorizing her comforting embrace, then whispered sadly, "I will pray for you every day. You will see me again, Chris… Tell Dean… Someday, I you will see you both again…" I withdrew. Chris backed away in the direction of the Cursed quarters and shock, fear and sadness contorted her face. I lifted my bare feet and ran toward the perimeter of the fence. I had to leave. I told myself to run…run …just keep running…_


	9. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6  
Danielle**

Letting out a sharp gasp, my eyes sprang open and fixed on a dark wooden sky above me. My vision pulsed around the edges.  
 _It was a dream. It was only a dream…_  
My momentary feeling of peace quickly evaporated as I stared at the strange ceiling and I stiffened as I realized I did not recognize my surroundings.  
The room was dark and smelled different from anything I had known.  
Hmm? Perhaps leather and an oil of some description?  
Glancing to the right, barely opening my eyelids, I noticed a man stood at a long table. He had short blondish brown hair and he was taking instruments or pills from a black bag. His back was turned away from me and there was a picture on the back of his leather vest. For several seconds I struggled to make out the image, but then my stomach fell as recognition hit— _Satan_!

I controlled my breathing, striving to keep calm, trying to focus my fuzzy mind. Thankful for small mercies, I rejoiced that he had not noticed I was awake. But then he turned to face me and his short brown beard came into view. _A disciple_ …?  
My mind was a foggy mess as I tried to remember why I was in such a strange place. It had been the day of my twenty-fourth birthday…My wedding day to Prophet David… But… But…Something happened to make me run. My heart pumped my blood like white rapids within my chest, the currents burning under my skin. What was it? What did I see…? A gate… A body… My…No! Cat! Cat… In that cell… Dying in the cell… Beaten, bloodied… Neglected.

She had told me to run as she took her last breath. I could not save her. I ran…but…but…I could not remember the rest. My breaths came in short, sharp pants and I tried to move my hand, but something was poking into my flesh. My fingers began tapping nervously.  
I could not remember what had happened to me, what led me to this bed, unconscious, but I knew I must leave, flee this place. I began counting. One…two…three…four…five…and inched my fingers to the sheets blanketing my body.  
I was wearing some form of robe. Six…seven…eight…nine…I took a deep breath. Finally reaching ten, I slowly lifted my body, my limbs feeling too heavy.  
Kicking my legs over the side of the bed, I pulled the robe tight around my waist to protect my modesty and landed on shaky feet, a sharp pain ripping up my left calf. Abruptly, the strange man spun around; my sudden movement obviously shocked him. He dropped whatever was in his hands and he inched forward, palms thrust out, surprise clear on his face.

My eyes darted around the room: a large set of wooden drawers, one single black leather chair, black painted walls, washroom, bed. Feeling a sting, I glanced down and noticed something was in the back of my hand, a wire attached to a strange clear bag hanging from the bedpost. Reaching down, I pulled the needle out, crying out loudly as it ripped my flesh and a stream of blood trickled down my arm.  
"No! Fuck! Wait. Calm down. It's… It's okay." The man attempted to soothe me with his voice. I did not recognize him from commune, but he was a disciple, I had no doubt. This meant I had to leave. I realized Gabriel must have tracked me down after all. This man was my captor. I was about to be punished. Scanning the room, I spotted a door behind me to my left. An exit. The man moved forward two steps, his words slower and clearer this time.

"Please. I won't hurt you." I cocked my head to the side. He was being kind, even gentle, but I knew it must be a trick, an evil ruse. He raked his hand through his hair and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, large, bulging forearms on display. I stumbled back, hitting the hard wall. His arms. His arms carried the picture of the devil. I stared. I could not stop staring as my body seized in fear.  
He looked down to see what had me so scared. His bright-brown eyes widened as they focused back on me. "No, fuck! It's not what you think. Don't be scared of me." A lifelong teaching set off an alarm in my mind: Evil is stalking. Evil will catch you. Evil will destroy your very soul. Attempting to reach the door, my feet were sluggish. Too tired to function, my leg felt as if it were on fire. Somehow I kept going, taking advantage of the fact that he was on the other side of the large bed.

"No! Wait! Ah, shit!" I did not. I continued forward. Gripping the handle, I pushed through on unsure feet, slamming the door behind me. The winding path of a dark, narrow corridor became my guide and I continued down a set of stairs, using the wall to keep me upright. I could hear people at the end of the corridor and I glanced over my shoulder just as the man burst through the bedroom door, yelling at me to stop.  
His whole frame appeared to fill the hallway. His face was intent and he was scaring me now. The way he stalked me unsettled my nerves. I tried to run even harder, but my injured calf protested with each step I made. A large steel door separated me from voices of people—people who could perhaps help, or maybe not. I did not know, but it was my only choice. I pressed down on the long handle with all my strength, bursting through, falling to the floor.

My legs had finally given out, my vision hazing, and an intense dizziness took hold. I slowly looked up, the room seeming to tilt on its side. Many pairs of eyes focused on me sitting dead center of the room and people began circling around me. Lots of people. Strange people. Frightening people. It looked as though they were swirling around.  
I wanted to cry. I fought back a sob. Maybe the teachings were right. Maybe I was in hell after all. The walls of the large room were mostly black, though adorned with picture after picture of Satan in hell—infernos, blood, demons, evil beasts, and dark rivers swarming with lost souls.

My hand muffled a scream as I realized Prophet David had been right; outside of The Order was evil. I had been protected yet escaped. I surveyed the immediate area, my dizziness ebbing a fraction. Loose women wearing scant clothes dominated the room. Rough, unkempt long-haired men wearing leather touched them in very intimate places and the women clearly invited such provocative actions.  
Even as they looked at me, amusement flickered in their eyes as they cowed me with their stares. Men and women alike were smirking at me, some seemingly in kindness, others in blatant lust. A deadly sin. The door behind me crashed into the wall and I froze—the passive deer surrounded by a pack of lions. Chills ran through me as I felt the man from the bedroom approach. I flinched at a loud screech. A chair scraped slowly on the wooden floor, the noise flowing around and through the crowd. Many heads turned toward the source.

"Baby, where are you going?" I heard a soft female voice ask from across the room. The crowd parted but no answer greeted her question. Tightly holding my breath, I waited for who would be revealed. Then a tall, hugely built man broke through the wall of people, walking straight toward me. His hard gaze locked on mine and I could not divert my attention away from his large, blue eyes, rough, unshaven cheeks, and dark messy hair as he towered over my slumped form. I dared not even breathe. Though he looked like Satan himself, he was quite simply the most beautiful man I had ever seen: ruggedly handsome and the most commanding man I had ever encountered. Shuffling back a few steps, I hit the legs of the man from the bedroom. Kneeling down, he steadied me by placing his hands on my arms.  
But the man with blue eyes kept closing in, only stopping when he was two feet away. Crouching down, he gazed at every part of my face, his nostrils flaring as he drew in long breaths. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled and behind him, someone coughed. Distracted, his eyes darted to the side and away from my stare.

I placed a palm over my pounding head. It was all too much and I could not focus.  
My heart slammed in my chest and pure fear seized control of my body. I willed myself to stop trembling; this only seemed to fuel my anxiety further.  
At the snap of his fingers, someone moved closer and I started. The man with the large blue eyes began waving his hands around in controlled yet unfamiliar movements.  
Then someone ordered, "Go to him."  
What? What was happening? Stretching my head up to follow the voice, I saw a man with short curly hair stepping forward. "Calm yourself. You're safe," He assured me gently. He had kind eyes and was very handsome. But so is the devil, I reminded myself. The dark-haired man edged closer still, now only mere inches from my chest.

Even in my weakened state, his scent stirred something in my stomach; he was intoxicating, dangerous but intoxicating. I lifted my wary eyes to meet his and his hands began to move once more. "You have nothing to be afraid of. No one will hurt you. You have my word," The man said.  
I wanted to scream out in confusion. I did not understand anything that was happening, did not understand where I was, who I was with, and why the man before me did not speak. In a flash, I suddenly remembered the boy I met at the fence when I was eight.  
I rubbed my hand down my face and squeezed my eyes shut. I was delirious, my mind wandering to silly, idle thoughts. "Phil man. What the hell? Who the fuck's this bitch? Why's she freaking out?"  
My gaze was drawn to a man with straight, long black hair that dropped. His features were so different from mine, his width so, so… Big. He was almost as wide as he was tall.  
"Mark, not fucking now," The curly haired man snapped, but Mark had addressed the dark-haired man. The man before me with blue eyes was named Phil? Phil leaned even closer and I let him.  
What other choice was there?  
I was no stranger to men taking from me what they wanted. I learned at a very early stage in life that a person can do just about anything to survive.  
Placing a hand over his chest, he moved it over his heart, and the curly haired man stood beside him.

"My name's PJ. His name's Phil. He found you behind the dumpster a few days ago, bleeding out. You were dying. You remember?" A few days ago! I looked down to my leg, now covered in bandages, feeling the tightness of my damaged skin and the nauseating pain when I moved. Guard dogs.  
Of course, a guard dog bit me. Gabriel's dog mauled my left leg when I was trying to escape.  
I had been unconscious for a few days?  
"This is a clubhouse, for bikers. The Hangmen." PJ gestured around the room. I frowned.  
His face reflected my own expression.  
"You do know what a bike is, yeah? A motorbike?" M-o-t-o-r-b-i-k-e. I sounded the word in my head, but it was not familiar.  
Someone laughed loudly in the background, mocking me. Phil turned his head slowly and he glared at the mocking man, whose laugher immediately stopped.

At that moment, I feared him. His expression was intense, severe, his dark, sharp features hard and steely. As I shifted on the spot in obvious discomfort, his gaze met mine once again.  
"No one laughs at you, right," PJ said for Phil it seems.  
For some reason, I relaxed on hearing Phil's vow of protection. PJ cleared his throat and continued.  
"A bike is something you ride, travel on. You know what a car is?" I nodded my head once. Phil's nostrils flared and his lips twitched.

"It's like a car but with two wheels instead of four," PJ explained. There was a deathly hush in the room as I tried to picture such a machine. I turned, looking each person in the eyes. They were all so different.  
I felt like I was in another world, so different to the one I had known all my life. It was a darker world, a sinful world. I supposed now I was sinful. I no longer had the protection of the great fence against outsiders. A pretty light brunette-haired woman smiled as she moved to the front of the crowd. She waved at me, then stopped beside a skinny man with blonde hair, taking his hand in hers.  
He unsettled me tremendously. He sported more tattoos on his skin than anyone else; even his neck and head were covered in bright, intricate images. He was menacing; in contrast, the woman seemed kind. She reminded me of Christina. I flinched and almost screamed.

Chris… Dean!  
"Listen to me." I faced Styx once more as he spoke. His voice was sweet… Deep almost but it gave me comfort. Significance of what I had done began to seep through the barriers of my mind. In sympathy, my limbs started to tremble. "Do you remember me?" He said. Did I remember Phil? What a strange question, I thought through my mind's thick fog. As I looked into those large, blue eyes, Phil suddenly seemed nervous.  
His gaze broke and he anxiously glanced around the room. People began to murmur, giving him quizzical looks. A woman with long black hair approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder, and without even looking back, he shrugged off her gesture of comfort. Her pretty face fell and she stared at the floor.  
Phil's hands moved once more, this time quicker but also seeming more intense. "Do you?" He pushed. But I could not take my eyes off the woman behind Phil, nor she off me. I could see by the way she hovered around the man that she wanted to belong to him.

It was the same way Sister Eve reacted around Prophet David: longingly…unrequited. She was in love with Phil.  
"Look at me!" He snapped impatiently. "Do you remember me?" Phil pounded at his chest with his finger. I studied Phil's face more deeply. He was even larger than I first realized, his neck and shoulders wide and strong, his arms bulging in the sleeves of his black shirt. But those eyes…Ice blue with flecks of aqua mostly sprinkled around the outside… Beautiful. Phil's eyes reminded me of the winter. Frozen ponds, fresh snow.  
I watched as he swallowed under my attention, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared me down. PJ sighed in disappointment, breaking the moment and he crouched down to whisper,

"Phil, man, it's not her. She's scared shitless. It was always a long shot anyway. It's not the bitch you saw and kissed behind that fence all those years ago. Time to let that shit go." Fence? Kissed? No…wait! Was it…him? Impossible… Phil sighed and lowered his head, his shoulders slumping in disappointment, nodding his head in agreement. I brushed my finger across my lips.

That strange boy…that kiss…A boy stood at the fence, pressed against the links, frantically waving his hands. I did not know what he was doing. Moving closer to the boy, I watched as he tried again. Sighing, he closed his eyes, took a long deep breath, and asked, "Who are you?" He spoke. The words fought to escape his mouth. I tilted my head, watching him silently. _Who are you_? The boy asked me. Who am I? I thought tiredly.  
I am Danielle, a born temptress, a Cursed. I had just been introduced to my duty, my service to the cause.

Shown how to help the elders get closer to God, to rid me of my born sin. I had to get away for a while…They had hurt me.  
I did not speak to the boy on the other side of the fence. I was prohibited from speaking, so I just stared, blocking out the events from earlier that day. I did not know how he found us, why he was even there. But at that moment, I did not care.  
The boy dressed strangely: all-black clothing, strange metal bracelets on his wrists. He was dangerous, with dark-brown hair and large blue eyes, the most beautiful winter-colored eyes. "What is this place? Do you live here?" The boy asked softly.  
My eyes slipped down to study his mouth, but I did not speak. No one must know of The Order, for our protection. I was not allowed to speak to boys. It was forbidden, a sin, and he was an outsider, one of them.

"Please …What is your name?"  
"My name is Sin. We are all sin…"  
I gasped loudly. Phil was that boy? No…I swept my eyes across his strange black clothes and down to the silver bracelets on his wrists, the metal bracelets embossed with the same strange emblem. I remembered that day as though it were yesterday. He had cared about me, wanted to know my name… Kissed me. Then I never saw him again.  
I visited the same part of the fence often in hopes of seeing him once more—especially after those days—but he never came back. I had never been kissed before or since.  
He was my only secret… My biggest ever sin. He had become almost like a dream to me. Lifting my shaky hand, I gently placed it on his cheek.

Phil sucked in a breath as his eyes met mine. I shuffled closer still, just to be sure it was truly him and his lips parted on a small, ragged breath. Choking on a sob, my eyes widened and I faltered backward, recognition slamming into my conscience.  
My reaction to who he actually was gripped me. From deep inside me, it stirred feelings I had never known. It is him. My Phillip. He has found me again…Phil clutched my arms, simply staring and staring. "Do you know, Phil?" PJ asked, still beside me.  
Phil's fingers squeezed my arms, as though prompting me to speak.  
I lowered my hand, playing with my fingers, and nodded once.  
Phil closed his eyes, freed me from his hold, he played with his hands as well before asking, "Where from? Tell me where from… Just so I'm sure it's you." I wanted to speak, but I was too nervous and I did not know if these people could be trusted.  
There were so many strangers encasing me in a claustrophobic circle and I felt trapped. Thinking of another way to prove my identity, I slowly reached out for Phil's hands and brought them up high to mirror the position they were at the fence. I then wrapped my index finger around his, just as he did with me all those years ago.

I saw in his floored expression that he understood. With this realization, he rolled his eyes, then ran a hand roughly through his hair.  
Shock and disbelief were clearly etched on his face.  
PJ gave me a peculiar look before stating, "I…I can't believe it. It's really you? Fuck!" He looked to Phil in shock. Phil had yet to remove his gaze from mine.  
"Fuck! It's the fucking pilgrim bitch!"  
"What the fuck's going on? Who's she? Why're the two of you being so fucking weird over a piece of pussy?" A tall man with fire-red hair asked as he stepped forward.  
Phil's face hardened. He pulled me to stand beside him, one arm gripping me tightly, and I winced as pain pulsed in my calf.

"Off-limits. You all get that now? She's under my protection and is none of your fucking business. Any one of you goes near her and I'll kill you. That's a fucking iron-clad promise," Phil said. I flinched at his violent words, his aggressive tone. The men in the room frowned and watched me with assessing narrowed eyes, then gaped at Phil in shock.

"Who is she, Phil? How do you know her?" That same feminine voice from before cut through the grumblings of the men. The black-haired woman confronted Phil, her wary eyes assessing the mood of the crowd. Phil blocked her from getting closer with his hand and curtly shook his head. That hard, severe look was back on his face.

"Phil—"she whispered brokenly. Stepping forward, Phil's hands moved fast. The woman obviously understood the strange hand gestures Phil made. Her eyes filled with tears and she turned and hurried away. Phil took my hand in his and walked toward the corridor, PJ shouting, "Marzia!" As Phil pointed to somebody with his free hand. With a glance back, I noticed the men and women remained standing as if frozen in place.  
They watched us go, staring in questioning fascination. The black-haired woman watched too from the back of the room, a haunted, devastated look on her face. Her tears now streamed down her cheeks. We entered the bedroom where I had previously woken up. Phil guided me to the bed, pushing on my shoulders to sit me down. The pretty light haired women walked in through the door after us. Phil turned his attention to her, saying something I could not quite hear.

"They're in Felix's room. I'll go get them. I'll leave them outside your door," The women answered in response. She turned and left the room. We were alone.  
Phil moved the black chair opposite the bed, then sat down and stared at me. His large blue eyes checked every inch of me and, in response, my body began to tremble. He did not say a word, but those blue irises never once left mine.  
Weirdly, the silence in the room seemed deafening. Searching for a distraction from his intense gaze, I turned my head to admire the large picture dominating his wall. The picture was of a large, two-wheeled machine. I smiled and realization dawned.  
It must be a motorbike. Standing up, I walked to the picture, running my fingers over the shape of its frame. Casting a glimpse back to Phil, I saw he was still watching me, his large frame now leaning forward intently, elbows on his knees.

With a smile, I pointed to the picture and he walked over to stand beside me. With a nod of his head, he signaled that he knew what I was asking. Giving him a small smile, I went back to sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling very tired. Phil followed my every move.  
Prophet David taught us that desiring material goods was a sin, but I liked the expression on Phil's face when he looked at the picture of the motorbike.  
It seemed to make him happy. Rubbing at my sore eyes, feeling drained, feeling empty, I knew I would have to face recent events soon. I would not be able to block them out forever. Phil moved to the chair, sitting before me yet again, as though he could sense my dismay. He tilted his head in question, asking silently what was wrong. I had managed to evade my reality long enough.

Part of me could almost pretend it was just a horrible nightmare, more so as I sat in this strange darkened room with Phil. However, flashes of Cat, motionless, lying broken on the floor of that cell, stabbed relentlessly at my conscience, piercing emotional walls.  
I shook my head profusely, trying to rid my mind's eye of those horrific scenes. Severe punishments were common amongst my people, a necessity to prevent others from falling from the path of righteousness. But Cat was my sister, she could not love Gabriel, and that was her downfall, plain and simple.

I would rather live in eternal damnation here on the outside than marry the man who sanctioned the relentless abuse of my true flesh and blood. Awkwardly, Phil moved toward me. He gently ran his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the wetness. It took me a moment to realize I was crying. Emotions were forbidden in the commune, but I could not stop the tears.

My chest tightened and I gripped his wrists, needing his support. Silent involuntary cries ripped from my chest and I let the pain take hold. I really cried for the first time in my life. Phil moved beside me and an arm circled my shoulders, which made me jump. I glanced up at Phil's rugged face: those blue eyes, big soft lips, rough cheeks marked by a few small scars.

His tongue licked at his bottom lip and a large set of dimples set on his cheeks. Those dark, soft delves made him seem less… Severe, more human. As I once more fixed my eyes on this big, silent man, so different from the boy I met, I crumbled. I gave in.  
This was everything I had been taught was wrong, but I could not help but cherish his touch. His strong arms encased me, warming me, comforting me, letting me feel safe.  
I held on tightly to his leather vest—he smelled of leather, soap, and smoke, and something else, something really… Good. I had never ever been held like this before, never soothed.

The only type of affection I had ever received was on those days. Even then, touching like this was strictly prohibited. Phil guided my head to the crook of his neck and only then did I set my sobs free. I cried for a long time before I gave in to exhaustion and drifted off to sleep, still unsure if I was being lured into a den of evil. But I felt completely and utterly safe in the strong arms of the only boy I had ever kissed…


	10. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**  
 **Phil**

I swear that fuckin'twitching nose is gonna destroy me.

She'd fallen asleep in my arms, her soft breath fanning my neck. For the first time in my life, I got a goose bump. A goddamn fucking goose bump.  
Pulling in the tiny bitch tighter, I exhaled, my eyes shut tight in agony. I was so fucking hard, painfully hard.  
She was so damn beautiful I couldn't believe she was actually real. I'd always wondered what she'd look like older—filled out, hair down, eyes bright—but the reality was mind-blowing.

Having her in my arms was the best thing I'd ever felt, and when that nose of hers twitched like Samantha the witch, blood pumped into my cock and thoughts of being inside her drove me frigging insane.  
Fuck. I didn't even know her name. Rolling my head back against the wall, I groaned.  
Pull yourself together, Phil. You're the Prez of a gun-trading MC and you're acting like a damn bitch pussy.  
The bitch moaned in her sleep and nuzzled closer to my chest, her small hand moving to grip my cut, her leg bending slightly to lie over mine.  
I couldn't deal with it. If she moved one more inch, I was gonna lose my restraint and fuck her into the mattress.

Scooping her too-thin frame in my arms, I pulled back the black sheets and settled her underneath, smoothing her hair from her face, watching as her full lips tilted into a peaceful smile.  
Fuck me, she was beyond beautiful. Even at thirteen, I thought that shit true, but now she was way more than a goddamned ten.  
Leaving my room, turning the lock, I headed to the lounge and over to the bar. Only a few brothers were left, most gone home or to their bedrooms with their bitches for the night. Charlie clearly split too.  
Good. Didn't want questions flying my way. Had no answers to give her anyhow.  
Walking behind the bar, I poured myself a large bourbon, PJ and Jack sitting around a table, watching my every move. Tyler ran across the room and jumped behind the bar.

"Fuck, Prez, I'll get that." I waved him away with my hand, but the brother took his place as bartender, one of his prospect duties. I took a seat beside Jack and PJ, meeting their eyes. "Prez," PJ greeted.  
Frowning at the fuckers, I saw them shift in their seats—they'd been talking.

"Out with it" I said.  
PJ rubbed his hand over his mouth.  
"Phil, man. What the fuck's up with the bitch?" Edging forward, I met his gaze head on, my eyes twitching in annoyance.  
"I'm not ripping on her. What I mean is that she's clueless, naïve. She didn't even know what a fucking biker was or even a motherfuckin' bike! She doesn't speak, looked at the brothers like she was staring at the face of evil. Turns up outta nowhere, bleeding out. We don't know where she's from or if someone wants her back. She could be trouble. In case you hadn't noticed, we're over-occupied with that shit right now. Don't need no more." PJ shook his head at me, like he didn't even recognize the man next to him.  
The man who'd been his best friend for years.

"Feds are watching our ass twenty-four-seven. We walk out with a timid, bruised bitch… They'll be on us and no fucker will believe the truth about her. I mean, fuck! We got the Chechen run tomorrow. We're going to be on the road weeks reclaiming our turf. Don't need this now."  
Downing my bourbon in one, I savored the smooth, peaty taste. I let the alcohol numb my throat. Slowly opening my eyes, I dropped my glass to the table and buried my hands in my hair. It'd been one… long… Fuckin'… Day.  
"Where's she now?" Jack asked as he tightened his black Hangmen bandana around his head.  
"Do you need me to check on her?" Shaking my head, I inhaled and said, "Sleeping."  
Jack nodded. I swear the fucker looked disappointed. Then he skittered his eyes around the room before they landed back on me.  
He looked like a man who wanted to say something.  
"Look, Phil. When I was younger and my folks died, I was left alone. Wandered for years, scared shitless at first, then hardened up pretty damn quick. Life on the road, y'know? This club was my second chance."  
"What are you sayin', brother?" PJ asked as he placed a hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Just that she may be scared shitless now, but she might come around at some point. I was brought up in a strict religious household. Never told anyone here that before. Never felt the need. That's not my life anymore, fucking far from it. Anyhow, when my folks died, I had to relearn life all over again. Lost my faith, my church, my support network. Lost my way for a while. I found my family here again with the Hangmen."

"You think she's a Bible nut?" I asked. It made some serious fucking sense.  
He shrugged.  
"Not sure exactly. Maybe? Just saying that was my path. But she ran from something; that's for damn sure. She turned up confused, mute, bleeding. She had tattooed scripture on her wrist about the end of days. She needs protecting by the look of things. She's obviously been sheltered. She don't know shit about life, like she's been locked up in solitary for twenty years." Leaning back, I stared at the brown-stained ceiling. I sighed and rubbed my head.  
"What if I didn't come on the run? You take the lead and I stay with the bitch, get to the bottom of her deal?" I said and looked at PJ.

He laughed and shook his head in disbelief.  
"You're kidding me, right? Fuck that! Don't even think it, Phil. You have to be there. You're the fucking Prez! Chechen's are expecting you to be there. Club first." Fuck! If I ever see the bastard Russians again I'll fucking slit their throats. I'll be gone nearly a month, had to go. Needed someone I could trust. Someone who'll watch out for her while I'm gone, then sort through this shit when I get back. Clearing my throat, I glanced to Rider and exhaled.  
He paled.  
"You take responsibility for her. Don't come on the run to the Chechen deal. Stay here with her. You protect her until I get back." I watched him swallow, then shake his head.  
"Prez, I'm not sure that's a good idea."  
"Not asking you, brother. It's a fucking order. I need someone I trust watching over her while I'm gone. Someone who isn't gonna fuck her while she sleeps."  
His face twitched in nerves. "I…I'm not good with bitches, Phil. Never know how to talk to 'them. I'm not the right guy…" He trailed off apologetically.  
"That's exactly why you're the right brother for this job. While she's here, you watch out for her, fix her leg. I don't know, teach her shit, rules and such. Hell, what about life? You know the brothers will chase her tail if she isn't owned. Can't keep her here with no protection. Last thing we want is a fucking rape. She's already been through enough shit."

"Prez…" He rubbed his hands down his face. I had no idea why the fucker never pulled pussy. Never smoked, didn't drink. Thought for a while he may've preferred cock, but I saw him watching the club sluts, fucking them with his eyes.  
Just never touched them. His business. We all wrestle with our own demons. Just so happens that attitude helped me with Jane Doe.  
"You're doing it! No questions. Right?" I said aggressively; making things real fucking clear.  
Jack frowned and began shuffling in his seat. "Right," He agreed.

PJ leaped from his stool, face stern. He fetched the Patrón from behind the bar, slamming three shot glasses on the table and poured, not meeting my eyes.  
"Just putting this out there, Phil. That girl is from a different world, whatever the fuck that is. Doubting whether she can be in this type of family, this kinda world. We both know you're in for life. You'll never leave." "

Point made. Leave it." I was losing my patience with both my VP and Jack fuckin'squirming on his chair. PJ didn't.  
"Just saying you need all your focus on this damn deal with the Chechens. We lose this deal and we're fucked. Focus on life on the road. We got bigger issues than caring for some religious pilgrim nutcase right now. Like the club's a goddamn charity. I mean, what the hell? How'd you get to her age and have no fucking clue about life? She could be big trouble. She acted like a kid tonight, man. A fucking Kindergartner. You want pussy, you got Charlie to suck your cock. Stick with that shit."

Jack tossed back his tequila and stood awkwardly.  
"Going to crash." I quickly signaled to Tyler behind the bar to get the fuck out to. As soon as I heard the door slam shut, I turned back to PJ and let the aggression being kept on hold fly loose. "You and I are brothers, best friends, loyal 'til the fucking end, but you quit this shit now. I'm not liking where it's heading." I stood up, towering over him, but the stubborn motherfucker never broke eye contact. He laughed without humor.  
"So what? Gonna make her your old lady now? Or your new club slut? Charlie out, new Amish bitch in? That how it's gonna be? She's going to be sucking on that cock daily too? She going to have your back when you're shot or when you fuck a whore just because you fucking feel like it? Never happening. She won't deal with club life. Cut…and…run… Don't sacrifice the club for a piece of pussy."  
Fisting his cut, I slammed him down against the table, empty glasses shattering on the wood floor. "You better shut your fucking mouth! Don't forget who you're talking to!"

Pushing me back, he spat, "Right." PJ straightened his cut and, giving me the finger, walked to the door, then suddenly stopped, hands clenched as he looked back over his shoulder.

"You act different around her, man. I'm saying your girl in there will fuck… You… Up…You're obsessed with the bitch, losing your damn mind if you think she belongs here. Christ, let's be honest. You lost your damn sanity age thirteen when you met her and never let this fucked-up goddess-worship thing go. I'm your best fucking friend, not just your damn VP. I remember how meeting her changed you all those years ago. She's not going to be the perfect angel you fantasized about, Phil—she's flawed and majorly fucked up by the looks of things. You're putting her on an unattainable pedestal for you. Don't be a selfish prick and put her before the club, your brothers. She won't deal with what you do, things you do, things you gotta do for the club. Let her go. Club first, remember. Nothing else comes close. I'm watching out for you, brother. I'll always have your back no matter what."

With that, he turned and left the compound, leaving me alone in the deserted bar, my messed-up thoughts my only company.  
 _Fuck!  
_ I slammed back another tequila, then another, and on the fifth, I smashed an empty bottle against the wall. I knew my VP was right. She's probably best out of this fucked-up life… But I wanted her gone about as much as I wanted to leave the club. I'd just found her again, but it was too fucking late. I'd found her too goddamn late. Hades has already pulled me into Hell.  
She didn't deserve to go down with me. She deserved a clean man—that so isn't fucking me.

Sitting back down at the table, I scanned the empty room, staring at the pictures that had the bitch so scared so many hours ago. I tried to imagine seeing them with innocent eyes—eyes that had only seen good, eyes that didn't belong following the example of the underworld's dark lord. Some sick feeling wound tight in my gut, and I knew I'm not getting any sleep tonight. My head was far too busy. I needed my smokes, a tall bottle of Beam, and my music.


	11. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8  
Phil**

I picked up my first guitar at six, my old man telling me the only things I'd need in life were my Harley, the love of an old lady, and my Fender. The code I've lived by all my life.  
Had my Harley, MC brothers, had money, had my guitar—didn't have an old lady, and Charlie wasn't ever going to be it.  
Twenty-eight, bagged lots of sluts, no old lady prospects, but a constant pair of wolf eyes constantly haunted my dreams since the age of thirteen. Talking always came hard to me, but singing and playing… Fucking natural as breathing, and no problems pushing out the words.  
I'd never felt more comfortable than when I had my guitar in hand, the lyrics flowing out my loose throat like the fucking wind. I strummed at the strings of my Fender acoustic, growing more and more pissed at my situation.

Switching seamlessly from Cash to Waits—needing the comfort of dark and painful melodies—I took a pull of my smoke, dropping it in the ashtray, feet propped up on the table, when an old song spilled from my lips.  
"Well, I hope that I don't fall in love with you, cause falling in love just makes me blue." I sang with my eyes closed, shutting out the world for a while, my fingers dancing on the strings.  
I zoned the fuck out, only to see Jane Doe smile shyly at me in my mind.  
Feeling a burn in my chest at the image, I opened my eyes and, fuck… She was there on the sofa to my right, knees bent, arms wrapped around her long, perfect stems, head resting on top, wolf eyes staring… like I'd fucking conjured her to life. I instantly stopped playing, hands freezing on the strings, unable to look away from her.

She just stared, a slight blush to her sallow cheeks. Shifting forward and lifting up my Fender, I turned away to put it down. But when I was halfway to putting the guitar back on its stand to my right, the sound of her deep breathing made me look her way.  
She slowly opened those full, pink lips, the tip of her wet tongue peeking out, and whispered,

"Again." I swear my heart missed a fucking beat. She was talking. Edging forward, I tipped my chin, urging her to repeat herself. A deep blush crept up the entire length of her face and she swallowed, shifting slightly, long black lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. 

"Again… Please, play it again. I very much enjoyed hearing your voice." What the hell was that accent? That button nose of hers scrunched and I knew what was coming.  
Fuck! And there it was, the tiny twitch betraying her nerves. I couldn't look away.  
Christ, I never took my eyes off hers, holding her gaze while I grabbed my guitar, sitting back, taking a deep breath, and thinking over the words, picking up where I left off.

"…And I hope that I don't fall in love with you. I can see that you are lonesome just like me, and it being late, you'd like some company…" Tears glistened in her eyes as I sang each line, a pleased smile ghosting her lips.  
Fuck. To see that look on her face or hear her talk again, I'd sing "Over the fuckin'Rainbow" Soprano, if she wanted. Clearing my throat, I sang out the last of the song. "…And I think that I just fell in love with you…" I let the last note hang in the air, our breathing the only other sound, the string humming until the vibrations faded to silence. 

I stared at her. She stared back. Tension built. Shifting to the side, I placed my guitar beside me, picking up my smoke and finishing it off, stubbing the cherry on the table.  
She watched, button nose twitching and her tongue licking those fat lips.  
 _Christ_.  
I moved slightly to try and hide my hard dick.  
Suddenly, a soft hand landed on mine, and lifting my head, she smiled. 

"You heard music before?" Giving me a huge, relieved smile, she dropped her eyes to the floor, her expression almost shameful. "Yes… Only once." My palms began to sweat and I ran them down my jeans.  
Her voice was as tiny as she was, but it was the sweetest damn thing I'd ever heard… And too long in coming. Fifteen fucking years to hear that damn voice again. 

"You got a name?" She stilled, eyes shooting up, her breathing all over the place, and intense fear took over her features. "I'm not going to hurt you, remember? Tell me your name, babe."I sighed in relief as my words began to come clearer. 

"Sin," She said almost inaudibly. I edged forward, convinced I was fucking hearing things. "What?"

"Sin," She hushed out again, swallowing loudly, staring at the exit, then back at me and to the exit again. She was going to bolt.

"You know where that name comes from, babe?" I couldn't disguise the anger in my tone, a red haze fogging up my mind. Brown eyes darted to anywhere but me, and her head lowered.  
"Yes. In many writings, it is said she was King Herod's niece. She demanded John the Baptist's head for her birthday and danced the dance of seven veils. She is a reminder that women sin and tempt men to do evil things. All women are born sinners—some more than others—and we must be reminded constantly that we are the reason mankind fell from Eden. Born with the original sin of Eve. My name assures that people are always aware of this fact and that I never forget my place in the great order of life."

What. The. Fuck?

She regurgitated that shit like it had been pounded into her brain, a rote speech.  
Her eyes lost life, her voice dropped all feeling, and every part of her body tensed. My fists clenched over and over, and I stared unseeing at her face, biting on my tongue to stop me from screaming and hurtling abuse at the fucker responsible for her spewing brainwashed shit at me.  
Jack had to be right.  
She had to be from some fucked-up cult, spouting shit robotically like that.  
Hell, that's nothing new in England. Everyone still remembers Waco like it was yesterday, and there's plenty of extreme religious fuckers around here, talking in tongue and exorcizing demons day in, day out.

Of course, as Hangmen, we know all of these cults, especially the Davidians.  
My gramps got the gun trading business the poor fuckers lost when they all fried.  
Gramps made a killin', took over their turf, extended Hangmen control in England.

As my vision snapped back to focus, I heard Sin whimper, cowering slightly, her black robe drowning her tiny body on the seat as she wrapped the excess material round her shaking limbs. Her eyes were huge as she stared at me, pure fear on her face. I edged in her direction, noticing a flinch of her shoulders and a subtle wince around her eyes. She thought I was going to hurt her. I pushed up my palms.

"Fuck, bitch, I'm not going to hurt you." Her head hung in submission.  
That just pissed me off more, and before I knew it, I yelled, "Don't bow to me. L…"I paused, refocused on my words, and inhaled. "Lift your fuckin head!" I rolled out in one long breath.

On command, her head snapped up, completely obedient, confusion radiating from her rigid body. "Wh-what do you want of me?" She whispered, her teeth chattering, face ashen, her palms now pressed flat to the floor.

I barely heard her question, the blood rushing in my ears almost drowning out her soft tone in her prostrate position. Her entire body was shaking in fear. Crouching to her height, I assured, "Not you fucking flinching when I move, that'd be a damn good start." She tilted her head up, regarding me warily, the shaking stopping, her pouting pink lips forming a small, confused O.  
Rubbing my hand over my head, I dragged my fingers through my hair. If she was any other bitch, I'd grab her and kiss the life out her, make her mine, fuck her 'til she knew I wasn't going hurt a damn hair on her head. But she wasn't like other bitches.

She was staring at me like I was going to kick her black and blue, all because I got pissed at her shitty name.  
Reaching for the table, I grabbed my smokes, ignoring her flinching and protecting herself with her arms. If I acknowledged it, I'd probably go kill someone; that's how fucking incensed I was. I pulled a smoke out with my teeth and lit it with the lighter from my pocket.  
Taking a drag, I closed my eyes, leaning back on the couch, mentally talking myself down off the ledge. I opened my eyes seconds later and Sin was fiddling with her fingers, nose twitching, white teeth worrying her lip.  
Groaning, I moved before her—right before her—locking straight on her terrified gaze. "Look, babe, I got pissed at your name." I rubbed at my throat, forcing it to relax. I could feel my eyes twitching again. "I don't know where you've come from or who dared fucking call you Sin, but you should not be called it. Never will be by me. It's a fucking shit name for a beautiful bitch like you, an insult. Right?"

She nodded, a small smile hooking on the corner of her top lip. Fuck.  
I took another drag of my smoke when she said, "Dan."  
I cocked my head, staring at her, and she shifted nervously in her seat like she was going to admit to committing a murder.  
"My sisters, in secret, would call me Dan. We did not like the derogatory names either." A small, coy smile spread over her pink lips. So she had some fucking spark after all. Slowly flipping my hand, I clasped her fingers around mine. She gasped but let it happen.  
I stared at the two limbs intertwined and huffed a quiet laugh to myself. I'd fucked a lot of bitches in my life, done every messed-up position imaginable, stuck my cock in every hole, tried every drug, drank every whiskey, but nothing had felt quite like her tiny pale hand wrapped in mine; nothing even came close.

And it killed me knowing she didn't belong here. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do right by someone, and her being a part of this club, a part of me, wasn't doing right by her.  
"Phil?" My name out of her lips, Christ, it almost stopped my breathing.  
Looking up, I saw her deep frown; she knew something was up.

"Babe…" I whispered.  
"Are you well? You have paled." Sighing, I ran our fingers down my cheek. She sucked in a breath, and I confessed, "I… Can't keep you." Her hand flinched in mine.  
"You wish me gone?" She whispered, pulling her hand back to cradle in her lap.  
Reaching forward, I gripped her wrists in my large hands and pulled her toward me. She had no choice but to drop down to my lap. I still didn't look at her, but rested my forehead against her shoulder.  
She felt too fucking right sitting on me. "You're too pure for this life, Dan. You're not safe. I don't know how to be in all this… Bad."

Dan said nothing for a long time, then confessed in a small voice, "I feel safe with you. I do not know anyone else here on the outside and I cannot return from where I came."  
Her small body jerked as if a thought slammed into her mind. "Please do not take me back, please! Not to them!" I finally glanced up and her face was broken. It hurt more than the machete hit to the chest I'd taken in the Irish war last year.

Fuck! Gripping her shaking hand, I said, "I won't, but where, babe? Where can't you return?"

"Where I am from," She said evasively.  
"The fence? Whatever's behind that fence? That what you talking about?"  
She nodded silently. I reached up and palmed her face in my hands. "You're too innocent for this life. You'll grow to hate me if you stay."  
"I believe in forgiveness. I will never hate, especially not you," She hushed out.  
"I'll lay it on the line for you, babe. I trade illegal weapons for cash and drink far too much. I fuck sluts regularly and don't commit to anyone one for long, I maybe never will."  
I made sure I had her full attention for the last part. "I've killed people. I've even liked it, and"—I knew I was bringing the final death blow—"I'll do it again. You want someone good to take care of you. I-it isn't me, babe. I have to go away tomorrow on business. We'll talk when I get back, figure shit out."

Her breath grew faster and she gripped my wrist so damn tight. On shaky legs, Dan stood up and I dropped my hands from her face. I watched as she walked toward the door to the back stairway leading to my apartment.  
Then she stilled and looked back at me over her shoulder. "You have light within you, Phil, and I feel it shining through like the rays of the midday sun. It is beautiful. You are a good man."  
Fuck. What the hell was I meant to do with that shit?  
"I am truly happy that I got to see you again. I thought about you often, the boy behind the fence, the boy on the outside… The boy who stole my first and only kiss, and I nightly prayed for your safety and happiness. It is a ritual I will forever keep." Dan sighed and drifted toward me, and I could see the torment she battled on her face, but at what, I didn't fucking know.

After several seconds, she stood before me, slowly bent down, and pressed a soft as fuck kiss to my cheek, moving to my ear to say, "I will be forever grateful that you saved my life, Phil, and sang to me so perfectly on your guitar. You have shown me more compassion in a matter of days than I have had my whole life." She laughed out one single laugh, and it was the purest, most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. "You will never know, but in the two darkest moments of my life, you have shown up. You say it isn't you who is good and who will keep me safe, but you already have. You have saved my life twice." I reached forward for her hand, no idea what the hell I was about to do, when a voice from the doorway caught my attention.

"Phil?" Charlie stood watching me with Dan, her eyes wide as she watched me gripping her hand.  
Jerking my chin in her direction, I lifted my hand and signed for her to wait in my club bedroom.  
She hesitated for a moment but walked away, and I heard the door to my room quietly open and close. Looking back at Dan, I said, "I have to go." With a disappointed smile, she hobbled out of the room. Grabbing my guitar, I made my way to the corridor holding all of the brother's bedrooms and hammered on the very last door. After a few seconds, Jack opened the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes and half dressed, and said, "Prez?"

"Move her into your room, outta mine. You stay at your home. Don't let anyone near her while I'm gone. Right?"  
Jack's eyes widened, but he just nodded in acceptance.  
"Where's she now?" He asked, sticking his head out the door to search the hallway.  
"My room. Go get her. Brothers are leaving for the run first light." Blowing out a long breath, he headed back inside and threw on a shirt, his cut and jeans. As he turned back around, I realized I was still standing there watching him like a fucking stalker.  
Turning, I headed back to my room where Charlie was already naked, eying me weird. I dragged my hands through my hair and took a deep breath. Shit! I needed Charlie to fuck Dan right out of my goddamn mind.


End file.
